


As Brothers We Will Stand

by AndSoIWrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: After season eight, Angst, Becomes AU, Brotp, Daddy Sam, Family, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Wendigo, as brothers we will stand, hurt!Dean, husband sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 83,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndSoIWrite/pseuds/AndSoIWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hadn't planned on seeing Sam again. Ever. But now, Dean's life is spilling out onto the driver's seat of the Impala from a gash in his back and there is really only one person who can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Dean hadn’t planned on seeing Sam again. Ever. The brothers had parted ways over three years ago and Dean went from spending most of his waking moments with his brother to not even talking to him on the phone. It was strange but like all strange things, he learned to deal with it. Sam had never really bounced back after the angels fell and even though he tried to fake it for a while, Dean knew it was a struggle for his little brother to keep up. He was slow to react when fighting, getting them both almost killed a couple times. On bad days, his hands shook and his head throbbed and Dean had seen that hunting was killing his brother. So Sam had moved out of the bunker to a small town about a two days drive away, sending his address about six months after he left. Not that Dean had ever visited. He’d never even called though he knew that Sam spoke to Kevin a couple times a year, making sure Dean wasn’t dead or missing. He thought it was easier this way, not to communicate. It eased some of the pain from the daily absence along with the thought that somewhere out there, Sam was making a life for himself. Dean didn’t know what he did for a living or if he even had a girlfriend but sometimes not knowing was best. In three years, Sam had never once come back and so that must mean he was doing pretty well for himself.

            But now, a hunt for a Wendigo had gone wrong and Dean’s life was spilling out onto the driver’s seat of the Impala from a gash in his back. He was also pretty sure he was wanted for kidnapping or attempted murder or something in this state so going to a hospital where he might be recognized was out of the question. Garth wasn’t answering any of his phones and even though Kevin still lived at the bunker with Dean, the kid had gone a little crazy lately and had left on a “camping trip” just a few days before Dean got the tip for the Wendigo. That left Dean with no one.

            “Sorry, baby,” he said to the car as he felt the seat grow slick with blood. That’d be a bitch to clean out; it always was. The pain was overwhelming when he did anything more than blink but sitting here wasn’t going to help anything.

            With a grunt, Dean reached for the glove department, feeling his wound rip even wider and spill more blood as he did so. Beneath the badges and a backup handgun and an emergency vial of holy water, he found a crinkled piece of paper. Dean smoothed it out on his lap and stared at the address. It had some sort of stain on it – whiskey probably – but he could still make out the numbers. There was one person he could try. If he could make it that far. If Sam still lived there. If Sam even wanted to talk to him.

            Dean started the Impala.

            If it didn’t work out, he would pull over on the side of the road and die. Crank up the music, close his eyes, and just…go. Dean was tired; tired of hurting, tired of the way his joints were stiff in the moments after waking. He would never admit it to anyone but he was growing tired of being alone. Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad.

            But Dean didn’t die. He had to pull over twice when the road started wobbling beneath the tires but he made it to the address on the paper, cutting the engine outside of a modest ranch in a quiet neighborhood. The house itself was an ugly sort of grey but the colorful landscaping made the place look homey. As much as he was hurting, Dean took a second to just stare. There was a garden on the side, with some sort of miniature tree that had a stone fountain under its branches and flowers at its base. Dean could see the side of a shed in the backyard, which no doubt housed a lawnmower and other tools. This was exactly the kind of place he used to dream up of for Sam, and for a time, for himself. When he was young, he often fantasized about stealing Sam away from John and buying themselves a house somewhere like this. They could eat Lucky Charms and play video games all day and not have to worry about whether the guns were all cleaned or if they had enough salt in the car.

            A pair of chimes whistled as he slowly made his way up the front steps, leaving bloody handprints on the white railing where he gripped it tight. It was ten in the morning on a Monday; the chances of Sam being home weren’t good but Dean knocked anyway. And then rang the doorbell. Twice.

            “Come on,” he muttered, glancing around. He hadn’t noticed it before but there was a large pot sitting just to the left of the front door, the kind you would make soup or stew in. A white envelope lay underneath but there wasn’t a chance Dean was going to bend down and investigate. The door opened as he nudged the pot with his shoe.

            “Can I help you?” Well, it wasn’t Sam but the woman who spoke was pretty enough to throw Dean off guard. She had dark hair that hung in loose curls framing her heart-shaped face. Slender but not devoid of curves, she was the type of woman Dean would love to pick up at the bar. Her eyes matched the dark blue sweater she wore and they roved over Dean with instant suspicion.

            “Can I help you?” she repeated, keeping the screen door shut between them. Dean noticed one hand drift to her front pocket, no doubt reaching for a cell phone.

            “Uh, does Sam live here? Sam Winchester?” Her expression didn’t change. “Big guy, obnoxiously long hair, bad sense of humor?” He tried to change his grimace to a smile but most of his concentration was set on keeping his knees from buckling. After a few awkward moments, she still hadn’t said anything.

            “No? Okay, sorry I bothered you.”

            “Wait,” she said as he turned away. “Sam lives here.”

            “Oh,” Dean said, relief coursing through him. The wound in his back pulsed. “Is he at work?” Something in the woman’s expression flickered and she shook her head.

            “Could you tell him someone’s here for him? It’s important.” The woman bit her lip.

            “He’s sleeping.” Dean raised his eyebrows, the only part of him that didn’t hurt.

            “So wake him up. It’s ten in the morning.” She said nothing and Dean could practically feel the reproach emanating off her.

            “Who _are_ you?”

            “Listen, I’m sorry. Tell him its Dean. If he doesn’t want to come after that, I promise I’ll leave.” She narrowed her eyes and Dean felt his knees give another inch, the knuckles on his right hand turning white as he clutched at the doorframe.

            “Okay,” she said after a long minute, walking into the house without inviting him inside. A moment later, he heard two voices.

            “Babe, who is that? He’s covered in blood. Is he okay?”

            “Kat, I promise to explain.” The second voice was definitely Sam’s although quieter and rougher than Dean remembered.

            “He scares me.” Dean heard Sam chuckle.

            “Dean’s not dangerous. Well, not to us.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “I’m just going to see what he wants. Stay here, okay?” She must have agreed because Sam came around the corner and into view, alone. By this point, Dean was leaning heavily on the doorway; there was something wrong with the air here, it didn’t seem to be getting all the way to his lungs.

            “Hey, Sammy.” Sam’s step quickened when he saw the blood. It encircled Dean’s neck like a noose, dripping onto a leather jacket that Sam hadn’t seen before. It was bright red and Sam could catch its rusty scent even from feet away. It smelled fresh.

            “Dean, what are you doing here?” He opened the door and Dean almost fell onto him, causing Sam to take a step back.

            “Hey,” Sam said more urgently, gathering his older brother up in his long arms. “What’s wrong?”

            “Wendigo,” Dean panted. He wondered if it was only his jacket keeping his spine in place.

            “By yourself?” Dean grunted again, something that sounded sort of like “obviously.”

            “You gotta fix me up, Sammy.” Dean’s voice had dropped to a whisper and now Sam was supporting most of his weight, Dean’s arm thrown around his neck, his side pressed into Sam’s. Sam could feel the hot thickness of blood soak through his thin shirt and he wondered how long Dean had been so hurt, cursing his brother’s pride for not getting help sooner. That’s when he noticed the Impala sitting outside the house, one wheel up on the edge of the lawn. Jesus Christ, his brother had driven himself here. It was a miracle he hadn’t wrapped himself around a tree.

            “Okay, just hang on a sec,” Sam said, half-carrying, half-dragging Dean into the house and down the hallway.

            “Kat!” he called over Dean’s head. “Bring me your sewing kit and that unopened bottle of whiskey.” She was watching from the doorway of the kitchen, cellphone in hand, arms crossed over her chest.

            “Sam –,”

            “Now!” Sam demanded with the old authority Dean remembered well. He moved Dean into the bathroom, caring less about getting blood on the rugs than anything he ever had. “Sit,” he directed, lowering Dean onto the seat of the toilet. The floor tiles blurred under Dean’s eyes and he swayed. The air bit at his skin as Sam removed the torn jacket revealing two shirts underneath, both shredded. “Can you raise your arms?” Sam asked and Dean had just enough energy left to shake his head. He heard the shirts tear as Sam’s hands ripped them apart. Then he felt hot air as Sam let out a long breath.

            “Jesus, Dean.”

            Sam couldn’t believe Dean was still alive, let alone conscious. There were three gashes starting at Deans’ left shoulder and raking across the length of his back. And it wasn’t the easy kind of cut, with clean edges; the skin was frayed in some places. Sam would have preferred a knife or gun wound to this. Two of the cuts were still bleeding freely.

            “Dean, I don’t know if I can fix this. We should call an ambulance.”

            “No.” Dean closed his eyes, slumping over even further. “Can’t.” Sam didn’t question his brother but that didn’t stop him from wondering if Dean was going to die on his bathroom floor. There were only a handful of times when either of them had had wounds this badly and all of those times, Bobby or Cas had been around to help out. What Sam wouldn’t give for an angel right now.

            Kat appeared at the door with the supplies Sam asked for.

            “Oh my god, Sam.” Sam didn’t look at her.

            “Give me the whiskey. Start threading needles. Run them under hot water first.” She hesitated but only for a moment then got to work and Sam spared her a grateful glance. She was good in emergencies, not easily rattled and always quick on her feet. Just a few of the reasons Sam had married her.

            Dean moaned.

            “Sammy…” and Sam’s attention refocused on his brother. He broke the seal on the whiskey and unscrewed the top. With shaking hands, he tilted Dean’s head back and put the bottle to his lips. Dean spluttered as the liquid hit his throat.

            “Come on,” Sam said, crouching in front of his brother. “Don’t be a pussy. Drink up.”

Dean opened his eyes long enough to glare at Sam. He took another drink while Sam held the bottle up to his mouth.

            “There’s food on your front porch,” he mumbled. Sam felt Kat glance at him from her position at the sink. She almost couldn’t hear her husband’s answer over the rushing of the faucet.

            “Yeah, that happens a lot.” Dean’s whole body shook once as he laughed. Sam found the gesture morbid. That was Dean all right, laughing in the face of death.

            “Wish someone would give me free food.”

            “Yeah, well, after this you can have as much casserole as you want.”

            “Sam,” Kat said, “Everything’s ready. What else do you want me to do?” He held up a finger.

            “One more drink, Dean. Make it a big one, we have a lot of stitches ahead of us.” When Dean had swallowed, Sam stood and motioned to his wife.

            “Can you stay in front of him and make sure he stays upright and still? I have to stitch up his back.” She nodded and they switched places. She knelt before the bloody man in front of her, thinking that through the dirt and blood, he had a kind of raw beauty about him. His eyes were a startling shade of green, not much dulled by the pain and alcohol. When they fluttered open every so often, one corner of his mouth would twitch up as if remembering a joke.

            “You’re Sammy’s girl, huh?” he breathed, fingers clenched into fists as the needle pierced his skin. His eyes were closed but he was holding his head up, the rest of his weight being held by her hands that gripped his shoulders. Sam met Kat’s eyes over his brother’s head. He held onto to her curious gaze for a second, the needle shaking slightly between his fingers but then he looked down again.

            “Yeah,” she said softly, putting a hand to Dean’s cheek. To her surprise, he leaned into the touch. “I’m his girl.”

            “That’s good,” Dean mumbled before blacking out. He came to a half dozen times during the process and she took each as an opportunity to pour more whiskey down his throat, those emerald eyes always watching her over the top of the bottle.

            The more she watched, the more of Sam she saw in him: in the way he clenched his jaw as Sam continued stitching, the way his head would periodically drop to her shoulder as he faded in and out of consciousness. She held him by his strong shoulders as Sam worked on his back, and when her arms grew tired, she watched her husband. The gentle but pained look on his face, as if he were the one bleeding out on a toilet seat and not this stranger. He moved in a way she had never seen before, with placidity and utter control, as if he had done this a hundred times before. The way his fingertips brushed Dean’s skin, dipping into the blood as if it were his own.

            After a while, she had put together a decent idea of what was going on.

            “You’re brothers, aren’t you?” she said softly. Sam stopped working for a minute and glanced up. His wife’s face was smeared with Dean’s blood but her eyes were wide and gentle. Dean’s forehead rested on her collarbone. Sam felt his whole body expand with love for his wife as she cradled his brother in her arms. She had become his whole life in just three years. When Sam thought back to those years of hunting, he didn’t know how he did it without her.

            “Yes,” he said. “Dean’s my older brother.”

            “That’s quite the secret, Sam Winchester.”

            “I’m sorry.” He paused, then, “It’s a long story.” Coming from anyone else, she would have been furious but the open vulnerability in Sam’s usually stoic face kept her quiet. He sighed.

            “Let me finish this and I’ll explain everything.” Both of their eyes shifted to Dean as he groaned.

            “Done yet, Sammy?” he said, pain and alcohol blurring his words together.

            “Almost,” Sam said, pulling the needle through another patch of skin. Kat was watching him again from over Dean’s shoulder and for the first time in a long time, her gaze was uncomfortable. There were too many questions now; it was as if a chasm had opened up between the two of them. Everything Sam had tried to keep secret about his past was threatening to collapse his new life. He focused on threading the blood-slicked needle through Dean’s skin so he didn’t have to think about the possibility of Kat walking out on him. He knew he wouldn’t survive that. But then Kat’s eyes slid from her husband to the sink where a pile of towels sat by the faucet.

            “Hand me one of those,” she said to Sam. “A hot cloth.” He did as she asked and then watched as she palmed it with expertise and started wiping the blood from Dean’s face. Her movements were steady and tender, her fingers sliding across his skin like a mother stroking her newborn. Sam’s heart swelled. When she noticed him watching her, her lips curved into a smile and she ducked her head, moving the cloth to Dean’s throat, scrubbing gently to remove the now-dried blood. Dean whimpered and Sam heard Kat illicit a soft, “shhh,” and run her free hand through Dean’s hair to calm him. It worked. He quieted and she went back to washing until he was considerably cleaner. His skin was still ashen and grimy but most of the blood was gone. And it all it had taken was Kat’s patience and the set of towels her mother had given them for Christmas last year. 

            “Okay,” Sam said, twenty minutes later. “That’s as good as it’s gonna get for now.” Once the wounds were cleaned and stitched, they didn’t look as horrible. They would hurt like a bitch but as long as they didn’t get infected, he would be fine. He stood and wobbled momentarily, clutching the kitchen sink for support.

            “You okay?” Kat asked, watching him closely.

            “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a head rush. Come on, let’s put him in the guest room.” They each grabbed a side and shouldered Dean down the hallway into a room decorated with an odd collection of furniture. They laid him down on his stomach and Sam pulled a chair up to the bedside.

            “I’ll sit with him. I know you have to go.” Kat hesitated.

            “I can stay if you want.” Sam shook his head.

            “No, we’ll be fine.” She bent and kissed his cheek her sweet perfume cutting through the metallic smells of blood and whiskey.

            “We’ll talk when I get back.”

            “Yes,” he agreed, watching as she headed out the door. He listened to her get changed in their bedroom and then the front door opened and shut and all was quiet.

            Quiet except for Dean’s heavy breathing. It was a sound Sam thought he’d never hear again. The sound he had spent the majority of his life listening to. When Sam was small he was plagued with nightmares and John grew impatient with the frequent midnight awakenings, so Sam learned not to make a sound as he lay staring at the ceiling, clutching his favorite action figure under the covers. He figured out soon enough that listening to his brother breathe was soothing, almost like a lullaby, and Sam spent the next years trying to match his brother breath for breath. After Jess had died and they had gone back on the road, Sam hadn’t slept for months and again been forced to lay awake, listening to the sound of Dean sleeping. It was a comforting sound because it meant that Dean was at peace, if only for a little while, and Sam liked that part of his brother best.

            When he slept, the harsh lines around his face disappeared and he looked almost like a child again, blameless and innocent. Sam knew that Dean carried crap around with him like bricks, each one breaking the man underneath just a little more than the last. He knew one day Dean was going to crumble under that weight. Cas had disappeared only six months after Sam left and he didn’t find out about it until Kevin called him accidentally three months after that. Sam had been tempted to head back to the bunker but Kevin had managed to convince him otherwise. At that point, Sam was already married and Kat made it easier to stay behind. If Dean needed him, he would call.    

            But he never did.

            Sam checked in with Kevin every couple months, always calling when he thought Dean might be out, just in case. He didn’t want Dean to think he was spying on him but he wanted to make sure his brother hadn’t done anything stupid. Well, over-the-top stupid. Dean was always doing foolish things; Sam just wanted to make sure they didn’t kill him.

            Dean groaned and tried to roll over in his sleep, the pain stopping him from getting too far.

            “Easy buddy,” Sam murmured. “You can relax here. Nothing’s coming after you.” He watched Dean for a minute longer then dropped his head into his large hands, rubbing his palms against his closed eyes. Even though he was relieved Dean had come to him for help, his brother couldn’t have picked a worst time to come back into his life. Sam was dealing with bigger things that sibling rivalry at the moment. And he certainly didn’t need to be pulled back into the world of hunting. Not now. Not ever.

            When he couldn’t sit any longer, he paced the room, then the entire house. The blood on his clothes had dried and he stripped, throwing them straight into the trash. He stopped in the kitchen to down a glass of water, eyeing the pill bottles lined up on the counter before taking a couple of them into Dean’s room, where his brother still hadn’t stirred.

            He muted the small television set in the guest room and watched an hour worth of Jeopardy before getting another glass of water and taking one of the pills himself. Just to stop the growing headache born out of exhaustion and worry. He fell asleep with his chin tucked to his chest, just the way he used to when riding in the back of the Impala.

 


	2. Chapter Two

           Dean woke to the pain. It was a fire, flames licking up his legs and creating an explosion across his back. He groaned into the pillow and bit his lip to keep from crying out. He cracked his eyes, waiting for the fuzziness to fade but the confusion stayed as he woke in the strange room. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being in the Impala and hoping he wouldn’t drive himself off the road. As he tried to reach for his gun, he couldn’t help but gasp as pain sliced through him and then he remembered.

            That damn Wendigo. It had been stupid to go alone but no one else was around. Dean had long been lulled into a false sense of security on hunts; he had turned all but invincible once Sam had left. This was the first time a monster had gotten the better of him in a while and god, he was paying for it. After a minute of deep breaths, he raised himself up on his forearms, stifling another groan. The first thing he saw were the pill bottles on the bedside table. He gripped them with stiff fingers and squinted at the label. Pain medication. The heavy kind too, if he was thinking correctly, which wasn’t exactly a guarantee at this point. He popped the lid and dry-swallowed two of them before even spotted his brother sleeping next to him.

            Sam.

            Even through the pain and the haze of his mind, Dean felt something unhinge inside himself at the sight of his little brother. It was as if he could finally relax now that Sam was in eyesight, now that the brothers were together again. It was back to the way it was supposed to be.

            Sam was folded into a chair only a few feet away, his legs propped up on the bed but carefully placed as to not disturb Dean. He was unshaven by a couple of days, the dark scruff covering his brother’s face like a mask. He was thinner than Dean remembered too; he had lost some of that Hunter muscle most of them carried around. His cheekbones looked sharper. But Dean could tell even now his little brother had also lost some of that nervous anxiousness that had haunted him for so many years on the road.

            So he must be in Sam’s house. A blurry memory of a dark-haired woman infiltrated his thoughts but the pain meds were kicking in and details were slipping away.

           Dean settled back onto the bed, gingerly raising his arms to cradle his head and he felt his own facial hair scratch against his forearm. His stomach growled but he forgot about it promptly as the medicine dragged him under and he lost himself on the current of unconsciousness.

                       

That was how Kat found the two of them a little while later, both sleeping, both completely peaceful, Dean snoring softly. She smiled at the toddler in her arms who smiled back just on principle.

            “There’s Daddy,” she whispered and the toddler waved his chubby arm at Sam’s still body. “And there’s your Uncle Dean,” she whispered not as enthusiastically, “I guess.” The toddler waved at the man on the bed too and Kat had to smile again. “We’re going to let those sleeping beauties rest while you and Mommy go make some lunch. How’s that?” The child gave a happy gurgle and clapped his hands. Kat shut the door and carried her son into the kitchen, putting him down on the floor with a couple toys before turning to the stove. For a minute, she simply leaned against the counter and stared at her reflection in the microwave.

            There was a strange, seriously injured man sleeping in her guest room. A man who was supposedly her brother-in-law. She guessed she should have known better; Sam had always been the mysterious type. When she met him three years ago, he had claimed to have no living family although he spoke somewhat fondly of a father who had taken him on road trips during Sam’s childhood. Kat was fine with just knowing the basics; she had her own history to forget. Sam knew she had served in the armed forces but rarely brought it up, taking her lead. They had a silent agreement from the moment they met to live in the moment, plan for the future, and not to dwell on the past.

            The two had met at the grocery store of all places. She was staring at a recipe and muttering to herself and he was standing on the other side of the aisle, just kind of staring at the cans of Spaghettios.  When she had backed up to get a better look at the bottom shelf, she had knocked right into them.

            “I’m so sorry!” she had said, blushing. “I didn’t see you.”

            “It’s okay,” he said, looking just as guilty. “I wasn’t paying attention.” He gestured to the canned noodles unnecessarily.

            “Spaghettio fan?” she asked. Sam chuckled and looked down for a second before meeting her gaze.

            “Not quite. I used to eat them a lot as a kid. I haven’t had them in years.”

            “I’m not sure I’ve ever had them,” she admitted, staring at the white and red can. “Anything with a cartoon noodle on it doesn’t seem right.”

            “Probably a safe bet,” he said, smiling. “I’m Sam by the way.”

            They fell in love quickly and passionately, marrying just four months later. Kat had never once questioned the pace of the relationship; it just always felt right with Sam. When she asked him if there was anyone he wanted to invite to the wedding, he only shook his head.

            “No friends?” Sam thought of Sarah, Ellen, Jo, Bobby.

            “No. None that could make it.”

            Three months after that, she was pregnant. It was unexpected but they took it in stride. Kat hadn’t even known she wanted children before meeting Sam but as soon as he was hers, she knew she couldn’t leave this Earth without leaving behind a part of themselves. Parker had changed their lives, strengthened their relationship. Everything had been going great.

            “Daddy!”

            Kat whirled around and found Sam in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Parker was reaching for his father and Sam obliged, bending down to pick up the toddler.

            “Hey babe,” she said, smiling at the sight of Parker reaching for his father’s long hair.

            “Hi,” he said, walking over and giving her a kiss. Still in Sam’s arms, Parker mimicked Sam’s actions and gave his mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. All three of them laughed.

            “Down,” Parker demanded, wriggling in his father’s grip. Sam put him down and the adults watched the child resume playing with his toys, a couple cars he drove around in circles at their feet.

            “So,” Kat said, breaking the silence. Sam sat on a chair at the kitchen table and she came to sit across from him. “Are you going to tell me where you learned to stitch up someone who looked like they just went through a meat grinder? Or, I don’t know, that you have a brother?”

            “Kat, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he started. “It’s just…” She gave him a questioning look when he trailed off. “Complicated,” he finished. Kat rolled her eyes.

            “Sam Winchester, I married you and birthed your spawn. I’m here for the long haul. Lay it on me.” He smiled but only for a moment, already too lost in his past to find much humor in the situation. There was a reason he’d spent the last three years trying to forget where he’d come from.

            “You won’t like it.”

            “So you have a brother I didn’t know about. What’s the big deal? Is he a serial killer or something?” She laughed at her own joke but Sam’s serious expression didn’t change. “Oh my god,” she said a second later. “Sam, do not tell me we’re harboring a felon in our house.”

            “No!” he said quickly. “Dean’s good, I promise.” She nodded.

            “Okay, then what?”

            So he told her.

            He told her about the fire when he was six months old, about hitting the road with Dean and John, about Stanford and Jess. Sam told her about hunting down Azazel and opening the gates of hell. He omitted the part about Ruby but he was completely truthful when he talked about the angels and Lucifer, the leviathan and the trials.

             It took the better part of the afternoon and lunch lay forgotten on the counter. They paused only to feed Parker and then put him down for his afternoon nap. Kat never once looked at him as if he were a crazy person, not even when he talked about being checked into a psych ward because he was hallucinating Lucifer. By the time they finished, Dean still hadn’t woken up.

            “Sam.” His name was the first thing she’d said in a while.

            “I know,” he said, taking a swig of beer. Her own sat untouched in front of her. “I know it’s hard to take in. You probably want to pick Parker up and make it a run for it about now. I wouldn’t blame you.” The way he said it made her think it wasn’t the first time it had happened to him. How many other women had he told this to? And how many women had run away from him?

            “The guns,” she said. “The knives.” So much of it made sense now. His obsessive compulsive need to check the doors and windows before he went to bed. She’d thought he was just being an overprotective father when he got up in the middle of the night – sometimes more than once – to check on Parker. But maybe he was doing it because he was afraid.

            “I kept them only to protect us. I haven’t used them at all since I left Dean just over three years ago. I hope I never have to touch them again.” She couldn’t help but glance down the hall to where their sleeping child lay. He would be waking up soon.

            “Are we in danger, Sam?” He leaned across the table and took her hand; her fingers were cold and they curled slightly away from him but he didn’t let go.

            “No, Kat. You and Parker are perfectly safe.”

            “And you?” He hesitated but nodded.

            “And me. Nothing’s coming after us.” She watched his hesitation with a practiced eye and he felt her suspicion rise. After three years she was pretty adept at knowing when Sam was telling the truth or not. Or holding some part of it back. He should have known better by now not to try and skirt around reality.

            “I wasn’t sure when I first moved away if something would follow me. Ever since I was six months old, there’s been something to run away from. When I left, there were still things out there I thought would come after me.” He shrugged. “But nothing has and I don’t think anything will if it hasn’t by now.”

            “And that’s what Dean was doing before got here? Hunting?” Sam sighed.

            “Yes, Dean kept hunting after I left. I don’t think he’ll ever stop. He shouldn’t have gone after the thing alone, but there was no one there to help him so…” he trailed off. Kat detected a tone of guilt under the words. She leaned back against her kitchen chair and finally took a drink.

            “Okay,” she said after a moment, still trying to process it all. “Okay. My husband used to hunt monsters.” There was a look on her face Sam couldn’t decipher.

            “Kat, I understand if you’re freaked.”

            “No, I think I’m good. I mean, it’s kind of a lot to take in, you know? But I either believe you or I don’t. And I think I do.”

            “Kat, I’ve done things. Horrible things.” He shook his head, unable to go on, images of all the lives lost in the last decade flashing in his mind. His mother, his father, Bobby, all those he hadn’t gotten to in time. For God’s sakes, Sam had started the apocalypse. Who could love him after knowing that?

            “Hey,” she said quietly, putting down her drink and grabbing his hand. She squeezed tight. “Everyone has done things we regret, things beyond our control.” Her own pain flickered in her eyes. “You and I just have done more of it.” He knew she was talking about being overseas, about killing people, the soldiers and the innocent civilians. It haunted her, he knew. Every so often he woke up to her talking in her sleep, always muttering, sometimes screaming.

            “I wish you had told me sooner,” she said. “But I understand why you didn’t.”

            “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you or didn’t want you to know…it was just because I don’t ever want to be that person again.”

            “Sam, I’m glad I know now. You can’t just throw away your past. It’s a part of you, even if it’s a part you want to forget. We might try to block it out but that doesn’t mean it goes away. It just becomes less important.” Sam looked down at his lap. She was right; his past was never going to disappear. It was going to follow him around until the day he died. It was going to haunt him.

            “So you’re not scared of me?” She let out a snort and rose to walk around the table. She straddled his lap, tugging on the ends of his hair.

            “No, Sam, I’m not scared of you.” She bent to kiss his neck and he tilted his head back in pleasure. “Actually,” she whispered. “The thought of you hunting down all the bad guys kind of turns me on.” She shifted, pressing herself against him and kissing him harder, on the neck, on the jaw, up to his lips, which met hers hungrily.

            “Couch,” she muttered and he stood, lifting both of them up, her legs wrapped around his waist. But they had just made it to the living room when a crying came from the baby monitor. Parker had woken up.

            “No,” Kat said against Sam’s lips. “Let’s ignore him.” He laughed and she felt his breath on her face. The crying grew louder and Sam detached himself from her, not even looking at his wife’s pouting face from her spot on the couch as he knew he _would_ likely ignore their child if he did so.

            “Hey, buddy,” he said as he entered his son’s room and flipped the light on. Parker was standing in his crib, tiny fists clutching the bars like an inmate, face red with tears. “Geez,” Sam said, picking the child up and checking his diaper. “We didn’t leave you for that long.” The toddler sobbed into his father’s shoulder for a minute longer than quieted. After changing him, Sam carried the child out to the kitchen, pausing at Dean’s room on his way. He was surprised to find his brother waking up.

            “Sammy? What was that noise?” Dean spoke even though his eyes weren’t quite open. He didn’t see the toddler Sam held.

            “One second, Dean. I’ll be right back.” He hurried into the living room, handed his son to Kat, gave her an apologetic look and went back to the guest room where Dean was awake and struggling to sit up.

            “Here, let me help,” Sam said, putting an arm under his brother’s shoulder.

            “Jesus Christ,” Dean said, face pale. “I think I’ve been hit by a truck. Or a plane.”

            “I noticed you helped yourself to the pain meds,” Sam said, reaching for the bottles. “Want more?” But Dean waved them away; he had no intention of falling asleep again.

            “I gotta walk around a little,” he said.

            “Dean, maybe you should wait.”

            “At least let me get to the freaking bathroom,” his brother complained. He took a couple tottering steps but Sam’s arm was there when Dean reached out. The two of them walked slowly and Sam waited outside the door when he got there.

            “Does he know?” Kat said, passing by on her way to the kitchen. Sam shook his head and suffered her disapproving expression. “You gotta tell him.”

            “I know.”

            “No more secrets, remember?” She wagged a finger under his chin, slapped his butt and carried on down the hallway.

            “What don’t I know?” was the first thing out of Dean’s mouth when he opened the bathroom door.

            “I can see your eavesdropping habit hasn’t died,” Sam said, ignoring the question.

            “Is there something you’re not telling me, Sammy?”

            “Of course there is, Dean. I haven’t seen you in over three years. I’m married. Surprise.” Dean grunted and they made it to the kitchen. Dean stopped in his tracks when he saw the toddler at Kat’s feet.

            “What’s that?” he asked gruffly. Parker paused, looked up at Dean, scooted a little closer to Kat’s legs and went on playing.

            “That is my son,” Sam said. “Parker.” Dean pursed his lips. He hadn’t really expected Sam to have any kids.

            “Huh.”

            “And,” Sam said, walking over to put an arm around Kat. “This is my wife, Katherine.”

            “Just call me Kat. Nice to meet you, Dean,” she said. Dean lowered himself stiffly into a kitchen chair, eyes still on the baby.

            “This is really weird, Sam.”

            “I know. It’s weird for me too sometimes.” Dean gestured at Kat.

            “Does she, uh,  _know?”_  He started to rub the back of his neck then stopped when he couldn’t lift his arm higher than his waist.

            “As of…” Sam glanced at the clock. “An hour ago.”

            “Wow.”

            “It was a bit of a shock,” Kat agreed. There was a silence as Dean glanced from Sam to Kat to Parker to Sam again. Sam could almost see the gears functioning in his brother’s head but he didn’t say anything; Dean would sort it out in time. He shifted in his chair and winced, the well-worn lines returning to his face as he fought the pain. Finally, he focused his eyes on Kat.

            “Well, thanks for helping patch me up.” He didn’t really sound all that grateful. If anything, he sounded betrayed…and maybe a little annoyed. Kat smiled sweetly.

            “No problem. Thanks for bleeding all over my white tile floor.” Dean’s expression changed to something more like respect then he nodded at Sam.

            “I like her.” Sam grinned and kissed Kat’s cheek.

            “Me too.” Parker had been watching the exchange quietly, sitting by his parents feet, cars in hand, mouth slightly agape. The expression he wore was eerily similar to Dean’s when he didn’t understand what was going on. The little boy glanced up at his father, who wasn’t paying attention and then pushed himself into a standing position and tottered over to Dean’s chair before Kat or Sam could grab him.

            “Car,” he said, shoving one of the toys at Dean’s fingers. Dean pulled his hand back as if shocked.

            “Parker, sweetie,” Kat said, moving forward. But Parker was undeterred and he thrust the toy at Dean again.

            “Car,” he repeated.

            “Yep,” said Dean. “That’s a car.” He looked more closely at the object. “Holy crap, is that a –”

            “Black 1967 Chevy Impala?” Sam said, grinning. “Yep. It’s his favorite one.” Dean took the car from the toddler who crowed in delight.

            “Car!” he said happily.

            “Good choice, little man,” Dean said. “But you know what’s even better? There’s a real one sitting in the driveway.” Parker looked up at Dean with wide eyes and Dean realized with a jolt that the toddler’s eyes were the same color as his own. So he hadn’t adopted Kat’s baby blues or Sam’s wild hazels, but Dean’s searing greens, like Mary’s. He swallowed against the sudden lump in the back of his throat. Sam swung the child into his arms and tickled him.

            “That’s your Uncle Dean. He’s going to teach you lots of things one day. Can you say Dean?” Parker giggled and ran his remaining car over Sam’s cheek. “Parker, can you say Dean?”

            “‘Ean!”

            “Close enough,” Sam said. He sort of shrugged at Dean and gave a lazy smile.

            “‘Ean, ‘ean!” Parker shouted and Sam pulled his head away so the toddler’s shrieking didn’t burst his eardrums.

            “Alright,” Kat said, reaching for the child. “It’s dinnertime for Einstein here.” She strapped him into the high chair at the head of the table, next to Dean.

            “You hungry?” she asked, putting tiny pieces of chicken and carrots on Parker’s tray.

            “I don’t know,” Dean said. The pain was coming in waves now, rolling through him in pools, making him long for the pills by the bedside.

            “How about a little something?” Kat urged, setting a place in front of him before he could answer. “Then you can go back to bed. But if you don’t eat now you’ll feel worse than ever tomorrow.” She put a chicken breast on his plate and another in front of Sam who was busy helping Parker keep his food on the tray and off the floor.

            “So, uh, what do you do?” Dean asked. “For work?” She and Sam shared another one of their sideways glances but Dean was too busy cutting his chicken to notice. The knife and fork trembled in his hands and he only looked up when she didn’t answer right away.

            “I’m a writer.” It wasn’t hard to tell Dean was unimpressed. He was hoping for something more exciting. Like a bartender. He could totally see her as a bartender.

            “Not a big reader?” she asked, pulling out a chair for herself. Sam snorted and Dean was about to defend himself when the doorbell rang. The three adults paused, the air around the table seemed to deflate as Kat slowly pushed her chair back out.

            “I’ll get it,” she said. Dean watched her go; half of him wanted to grab a gun and go with her, just in case someone – or something – had followed him here. His old habit of protectiveness stirred as he shifted his gaze to Sam but his little brother didn’t seem worried. In fact, it seemed as if Sam was making an effort not to look in Dean’s direction.

            “Hi, Bethany.” Dean heard Kat say and he relaxed. No gun necessary.

            “I just heard. I’m so sorry, Kat.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I brought you some lasagna. The note on the top tells you how long to heat it. Did you get your oven fixed yet?”

            “Yes, Sam took care of it last week. Thanks so much for the food. It’s so kind of you, I’ll be sure to let Sam know.” There was a pause in the conversation and Dean noticed that the pot of food that had been on the porch earlier was now on the kitchen counter.

            “Is he here?” the woman asked. Sam was still refusing to look at Dean, who had put down his silverware.

            “Now’s really not a good time,” Kat said and the response was a long sigh.

            “Well, let me know if there’s anything else I can do. You were such a godsend when Jack had his surgery a couple years ago; I’d love to repay the favor.”

            “Thank you,” Kat said again. She walked back to the table, carrying a casserole dish covered with tin foil.

            “That was Bethany Burgess. She brought over some lasagna.”

            “That was nice of her,” Sam commented, not looking at his wife. Dean was beginning to get annoyed.

            “What’s going on?” he said, his voice coming out louder than he expected it to. But the familiar desperate anger was welling in his chest, his ears roaring to the beat of a frantic mind. Something was wrong.

            “’Ean!” When nobody laughed, Parker’s face fell.

            “Come on, little guy,” Kat said, ignoring her untouched dinner. “It’s bath time. We’re going to let the big boys talk.”

            Sam sat back in his chair and set his napkin on the table as if throwing down a white flag.

            “Sammy, what’s going on?” Dean knew the look on his brother’s face; it was the one people wore when they were trying to figure out how much of the truth to tell. Dean himself had worn it multiple times over the years. Lying to John about how much trouble Dean had gotten into. Lying to Lisa about how much he missed hunting. Lying to Sam about more things than he could remember.

            “I’m sick, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, cliffhangers. Hope you guys are interested because this is going to be one hell of a ride. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

_I’m sick, Dean._

           They were the words Dean never wanted to hear. The kind that made his stomach drop and his heart leap into his throat. The emotions came so fast he could hardly get his next words out and it was only with some of his dry humor that he managed.

            “What do you mean? You never get sick, Sammy. You’re superman.” Sam couldn’t even gather up a smile. He sighed and crossed one leg over his knee, the gesture reminding Dean of an old man. When had they turned into grown-ups? Into the kind of men who discussed health issues at the dinner table?

            “We found out about a year ago.”

            “Stop.” Dean shook his head, refusing to believe what he was hearing.

            “Dean, I’m sorry.”

            “Stop.” So Sam stopped. Dean’s hands clenched into fists and then unclenched, his fingers reaching for something that wasn’t there. Neither one of them had eaten more than a few bites of their dinner. From down the hall, they could hear Parker splashing in the tub and Kat’s soft words. It sounded as if she were singing.

            “A year ago?” Dean said finally. “A year, Sam?”

            “I didn’t want to bother you. I thought you were done when I invited you to my wedding and you didn’t show up.”

             _“I was on a hunt!_  For God’s sakes Sam, of course I wanted to know if you were sick! It’s my job to take care of you, dammit!” Sam looked taken aback.

            “It’s not your job to take care of me,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe when I was little but not anymore.” Dean growled out of frustration, slapping the table with his palm.

            “It will always be my job. I will never stop being your big brother. Don’t you get that?” The pain in Dean’s eyes stopped Sam from rebutting. The brothers stared at each other over the table.

            Dean could see it now. Sam’s thinness, the way his cheeks had that hollow look to them. He moved slower than he had before, his movements more measured. The pill bottles, the pre-made dinners, the concerned neighbors, the way his wife took care of him.

            His brother was sick and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

            “How bad?”

            “Dean -,”

            “ _How bad?_ ” Sam shrugged.

            “I never bounced back the way I should have after the trials. But about a year ago, it got worse and Kat made me go to the doctor. It’s a non-aggressive form of cancer but…we just found out it came back.”

            “Non-aggressive? That’s good, right?”

            “Good for treatment, I guess.”

            “Then you’ll probably get better.”

            “Dean, it’s already back for a second round.” Dean waved this away as if it were a trivial matter.

            “We’ve beaten stuff like this before.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. Sam cocked his head. That was the phrase Dean always used when they were in a tight spot. It had pacified Sam when he was younger: if Dean said they would beat something, they would. That’s just the way life worked back then.

            But not anymore.

            “No, we haven’t. You can’t fix this with guns or salt or devils traps, Dean. It’s just me and my body, that’s it.”

            “We can fix this, Sam. You and me. Just like old times.” Sam’s face grew hot as his exasperation with his older brother hit the limit.

            “What don’t you understand about this? It’s not something you can fix, Dean! It’s just the way it is. You can’t help me this time. This one isn’t up to us.” His voice broke slightly on the last word and he ducked his head. Dean rose stiffly, carrying his bruised and wounded body over to Sam’s side of the table. Slowly and with a stifled groan, he crouched at his brother’s side.

            “Hey,” Dean said and Sam turned to look him. His eyes were red and tears fell from them in a way that made Dean’s heart ache. His brother just looked so…old. Old and defeated. His baby brother. It seemed like yesterday he was watching Sam build with a mismatched set of Legos Dean had brought home for him as a surprise. Half of the pieces had been missing, he found the rest in a dumpster but after washing them off a few times, they were almost as good as new. For years, Dean thought of Sam’s smile at the moment Dean pulled the gift from behind his back. It helped him remember why he was putting himself through this life. He’d give anything to go back and stop it all from happening. Anything to take away Sam’s pain.

            “You’re going to be fine,” Dean said and when Sam made an objecting noise, he raised a hand to stop him. “If you think I’m not going to stick around and see you through this, you don’t know a single thing about me. Hell, Sammy, we’ve fought bigger things than cancer. All those demons we’ve killed. Ruby. Lilith. Azazel. You’ve had Lucifer inside you, Sam.”

            He swore he heard a soft whimper escape through Sam’s lips.

            “And now you’ve got something to live for. I’ve always had you, Sammy, always known why I was put here: to look after you. But you’ve got that little boy now and he’s going to need you. Who’s going to teach him how to throw a baseball or woo girls with lines from Shakespeare? That’s gotta be you, man. You have to be the father ours wasn’t.”

            Sam wiped at his eyes, managing to give Dean a shaking smile.

            “You’re really going to stick around?”

            “Hell yeah.” Dean said, rocking back on his heels. “Why leave? Hot lady, cute kid,  _tons_ of free food. I’m here for the long run.”

            “I’ll talk to Kat,” Sam mumbled but they both knew it was a done deal. Sam needed Dean and so Dean would stay.

            “Don’t worry, I think I’ve pretty much won her over,” Dean said confidently, using the table to help him stand.

            “Just don’t leave your shoes lying around,” Sam recommended. “She hates that.”

            “Mind if I grab a couple more of those pills?” Dean asked, already on his way to the bedroom.

            “Help yourself,” Sam said. “I’ve got tons.”

            “Nice,” Dean said halfway to the bedroom. He turned around at the doorway and raised a pointed finger at Sam. “You and me, kid. Don’t forget that.” He rapped his knuckles twice on the doorframe and then Sam heard the door shut.

            He toyed with the now-cold food on is plate and thought about throwing it out before Kat came back out. She was always fussing over how much he ate even though he tried to explain the meds made him nauseous. But his legs were too tired to carry the plate to the trashcan so he pushed the chicken around with the fork, thinking this day couldn’t have turned out any differently than he had planned.

            He’d woken up at six this morning to go to an early doctor appointment so some guy in a white coat could tell him he might be dying. Sam hated doctors more than he hated the cancer. If he didn’t have Kat and Parker, he probably would have killed himself sometime in the last year. As it was, the thought had crossed his mind more than once.

           Then Dean had showed up and changed everything. Just one look from his brother brought Sam rushing back to his childhood. Dean was practically the only constant human contact Sam had gotten from ages six months to thirty, minus the years at Stanford. God, Stanford seemed another lifetime ago. And Jess. Her memory was fading more and more as the years went by but he’d never forget the way she looked at him, the way her hair always smelled of strawberry shampoo.

           Now Dean was back. And they were going to try life as just brothers, no hunting involved. Sam didn’t really expect Dean to stick around but it was a sweet gesture on his brother’s part to not head out the door as soon as he could. But he figured the moment Garth or Kevin called asking for Dean’s help with something, his brother would give him an apologetic look and a wave goodbye from the front seat of the Impala,

            “Hey, handsome.” He moved his gaze from his dinner plate to his wife, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a bathed and clothed Parker resting on her hip, his head on her shoulder as he fought sleep.

            “Hey.”

            “I heard you guys talking.” Sam gave a humorless laugh.

            “Did you hear us yelling too?” She dropped the toddler into his lap where he curled up in his father’s arms. She threw her dinner in the microwave for a minute then sat down next to him to eat.

            “What happened?” Sam sighed, running his hand through Parker’s feathery soft hair. The child was so tiny compared to him; it was hard to believe he would ever be a full sized human.

            “He was mad I didn’t tell him about being sick. He wants to stay a while.” He glanced at her. “As long as you’re okay with that.”

            “Do you want him to stay?” Sam was quiet for a minute then he said,

            “Yes. I do. Kat, I don’t know how to explain it other than Dean raised me. My father – well, he wasn’t around that much. Dean took care of me from the beginning. He’ll always be welcome in my home.”

            “Then he’s welcome in our home,” Kat said.

            “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?” he teased, kissing her cheek. Parker stirred and then settled deeper into Sam’s chest. He could feel his son’s heart beating, faster than his own, like a baby bird’s.

            “Let me give you a hint: you can never tell me enough.”

            “He’s going to take patience, Kat,” Sam said after a minute. “He’s not an easy person to be around. But he’s loyal, almost to a fault, and he’ll try hard – most of the time.”

            “Hey,” she said softly. “Don’t worry about it. He’s your brother and he’s welcome here as long as he wants to stay.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “And just imagine how much gossip we’re providing the neighborhood with! Two fine-looking men staying in my house? Oh, the scandal!” Sam laughed out loud, a feeling that left him feeling lighter than he had in weeks. As he watched his son sleeping on his lap and his wife eating next to him, he couldn’t help but be satisfied that everyone he loved was under the same roof again.

            It was about time.

 


	4. Chapter Four

            Dean woke to the smell of food. More specifically: bacon. It took him a couple tries to stand but once he was up on two feet, it was easier to ignore the pain. His jaw clenched the first few steps but he’d had worse. He followed the scent of the food to the kitchen where he found Kat eating alone at the table, turning the pages of a newspaper with one hand while the other stayed curled around a large ceramic mug. Between her fingers, he could see the words “#1 Mom” spelled out in a loose, colorful script, mocking a child’s scrawl. She glanced up when he walked in.

            “Morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well?” Dean had. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept for so long. Months, if not years. Maybe never.

            “Yeah, thanks.”

            “Hungry?” She started to rise but Dean waved her down.

            “I got it,” he said. She smiled and went back to leafing through the appear as Dean found a plate and piled it with eggs and bacon, home fries and toast, which he slathered thickly with butter. He sat down across from Kat, giving his plate an appreciative nod before digging in.

            “This is so good,” he said a minute later, mouth full of food. “Oh my god, you’re amazing.”

            “It’s hard to screw up eggs and bacon,” she said but looked pleased all the same.

            “I can’t believe Sam lets you keep this stuff in the house. A few years ago, he was turning into a health freak.”

            “Still is,” Kat said, biting into a piece of bacon. “But a girl’s gotta eat.”

            “Amen,” Dean said. The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes. It’d been a long time since someone had cooked for Dean. Kevin was useless – if not dangerous – in the kitchen and Dean could only make so many hamburgers. While he ate, he watched his brother’s wife. She was pretty, like he remembered from yesterday but even relaxed and scanning the paper, her eyes were serious. There was a way she held herself that reminded Dean of a Hunter but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He wondered what Sam had seen in this woman to devote the rest of his life to her; Dean couldn’t imagine spending that much time with any one woman. But there was obviously something about this one Sam had liked well enough to marry her.

            “Where’s Sam?” he asked, scooping up the reminder of his eggs with a third piece of toast.

            “He took Parker for a walk just before you got up. He had to give up running when he got sick but he makes an effort to go for a walk every day. Two if it’s a good day.” Dean chewed more slowly.

            “Are there a lot of good days?” She shrugged and sighed.

            “It depends. Once the treatment starts, there will be more bad days. We’ve been lucky for a while but you can’t really tell with Sam.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I think he hides a lot of the pain, the discomfort. I never know how bad it is. Did he do that with you?” Her eyes watched Dean, probing. She wanted to understand her husband more and perhaps the man sitting in front of her was the key. Though if the brothers were anything alike, she might not learn much.

            “Sam’s always been that way.”

            “We have to know how much he’s hurting to be able to help him.” There was desperation to her tone that told Dean this wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind. How quickly the two of them had become an alliance; the use of ‘we’ in the sentence struck Dean. He’d never been a part of ‘we’ except for Sam. We, the Winchesters, We, the Brothers, We, the Hunters. And for the last three years, Dean had only been ‘I’. He didn’t know what to tell her.

            “I’m not going to let him die.”

            She heard the fierceness in his voice, the years of fighting, the battles he had lost. He had the voice of a man who had see more than his share of evil. Every so often she heard Sam use the same tone, but Dean didn’t even try to hide it.

            “If there’s anything I’m going to do for the rest of my life, it’s making sure Sam doesn’t die,” he said. She wiped away a few tears, laughing weakly at her own weepiness. She rarely let people see her cry but there was something about Dean that broke down that wall. Perhaps it was because he felt so much like a fellow soldier. Hunting had changed him, shaped him even, just like being in the army had changed her. Sam could ignore that part of him; she never would have known about hunting if he hadn’t told her. But she wasn’t like that; she couldn’t tuck away that part of her life completely, no matter how much she wanted to.

            “Okay,” she said. Dean put down the last bite of food, appetite gone. She rose, rinsed off her plate and mug and then turned back to Dean, hands on her hips. The tears had disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.

            “Alright,” she said, eyeing him up and down.

            “What?”

            “We have to get you cleaned up.” Dean looked down at himself. He was wearing the extra set of clothes he kept in the back of the Impala.

            “I am clean.”

            “No, you’re not. You smell.”

            “I do not!” She shot him down with her well-practiced mother look.

            “I’m going to go get supplies. Put you dishes in the dishwasher and don’t even think about going anywhere.” Dean shook his head, muttering something about walking into a prison but he got up and washed his dishes. The house was modest but cozy and well decorated. There were pictures tacked to the fridge with alphabet magnets. Most were of Sam and Kat. Sam and Kat at the beach, Sam and Kat on horseback, Sam and Kat at some kind of sporting event. There were a couple of a baby – Parker, Dean assumed. There was one of Parker as a baby, sitting on Sam’s lap while Sam sat in a hospital bed. They were both wearing goofy expressions and Sam had a giant glittery hat on. Dean took the picture off the fridge and flipped it over, looking for a date. It simply said “New Years”.

            “Ready?” Kat had come back, holding a bundle of towels and bandages.

            “Yeah,” Dean said hurriedly, putting the picture back in place. He followed Sam’s wife into the living room.

            “Take off your shirt.” There was a pause and then Dean did what she asked. She told him to lie down on the couch and he did, propping his chin up on his forearms as she removed the day-old bandages. He gritted his teeth when the gauze stuck to the wounds. He hated strangers touching him, he hated being touched in general.

            “These are some serious wounds. What were you hunting again? A rabid bear?”

            “Wendigo,” Dean said. “Not friendly.”

            “I guess not. I stopped by the pharmacy and got some stuff while I was out yesterday.” Dean was genuinely touched and tried to relax under hands. Maybe she wasn’t so bad. After all, if she was good enough for Sam, that should mean she as good enough for Dean. He trusted Sammy.

            “Thanks.”

            “Don’t thank me yet. This is probably going to hurt like a bitch.”

            “I’ve had worse-,” he started to say but it was cut off by a loud breath as she pressed a warm cloth to the stitches. His next breath came out as a whistle through gritted teeth.

            “Sorry, she said. “I wanted to clean it up a bit. There’s still a whole lot of blood, you know. If these get infected, you’re fucked.” He grunted in response, pressing his forehead against the couch cushion. It was slow going and she tried to make it better by distracting him.

            “Do you have a girlfriend?”

            “No,” Dean said.

            “So you live alone?” The skin around the stitches was red and puffy and she worked her way from the top of each gash to the bottom with a gentle rhythm.

            “No, I have Kevin. Well, most of the time.”

            “Which one is Kevin again?” Dean resisted the urge to sigh. He hated explaining things almost as much as he hated being touched by people he didn’t know.

            “He’s the prophet who told us about the Trials.”

            “The ones that almost killed Sam.”

            It wasn’t exactly an accusation but she felt his muscles stiffen under her fingertips. Dean heard the question in her voice. She blamed him for Sam’s illness, for killing him. That was fine; it  _was_  his fault. Nobody blamed Dean more than himself. But he wasn’t about to let some smart-ass chick know that.

            “We didn’t know.” She said nothing for a minute and it made Dean feel obliged to go on. He stared straight ahead at the wall as he spoke.

            “I’ve spent my whole life protecting Sam. From the time he was six months old, it was my job to look after him. When he was little, it was easy; he did exactly what I told him to. Even as a teenager, he usually followed orders. But after our father died, he started slipping out my reach. I’ve had to stand by and watch him make some bad decisions and there was nothing I could do about it. When he left three years ago, I knew it was over. Letting him walk out that door was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

            Kat’s hands had stilled, the washcloth grew cool on his skin.

            “Why’d you let him leave?” she asked. She’d only known Sam three years compared to Dean’s thirty but she knew she was never letting her husband go.

            “That’s what he needed. He was trying hard to pretend everything was okay but I knew it wasn’t. There was no life left for him in hunting. He needed to move on. Meet you, have a kid. I wouldn’t be a very good brother if I kept him from that.”

            “Meeting Sam saved my life,” she told him quietly. “I was on a fast track to nowhere when I met him. I will never be able to thank you enough for letting him go.” Dean had nothing to say in response. Great for her, he thought rather bitterly. So Sam had left Dean behind to go save a tortured soul. It wasn’t the first time. Dean didn’t have to be happy about it though; he was the one who had gotten left behind.

            There was silence for the rest of the time that Kat cleaned and bandaged his wounds. But when Dean went to put his shirt back on, she stopped him.

            “No,” she said. “I brought you a shirt of Sam’s. It will be better for your back.” She produced a button down shirt, the color of melted butter.

            “I’m not wearing that,” he said.

            “You are,” Kat told him. “It will be easier to get on and off, less chance of you ripping open those stitches.” Dean weighed the hideous shirt against how much trouble she would give him if he downright refused. Sighing, he took the shirt and put it on, grumbling the whole time.

            “It looks good,” she said approvingly as he rolled up the too-long sleeves. “It’s a good thing Sam is broader than you in the shoulders because the shirt won’t be tight against your stitches.”

            “Great,” said Dean. Like he hadn’t been reminded enough times that Sam was a good four or five inches taller than him. It had annoyed Dean ever since Sam hit his growth spurt when he was sixteen. One minute Dean was broader and taller and stronger and the next a giant was rolling out of bed next to him with gorilla arms and legs up to his armpits.

            Sam chose that moment to walk in the door, Parker tottering in just before him. The boy’s cheeks were red from the morning chill and there was a booger hanging from his nose but he grinned at Kat and Dean with ambition.

            “You’re up!” Sam said, spotting Dean. “And…wearing my shirt.” There was a smirk wrestling from his lips, laughter danced just around the corner.

            “Whatever,” Dean said. Sam, he noticed, was wearing a pair of worn sweatpants and a gray hoodie; Dean envied his brother’s wardrobe. He spent a second thinking fondly of the charcoal hoodie he and Sam had shared years ago. Where had that thing gone? Sam had probably dumped it at some Salvation Army after they outgrew it.

            “How’s your back?”

            “Fine,” Dean said because that’s what he always said. The exasperation that crossed Sam’s face told Dean that he knew he wasn’t telling the truth.

            “Mama!” Parker said, trotting over to his mother, his jacket still attached by one sleeve, dragging behind him. He held out a closed fist to his mother but released his fingers before she could hold her hand out to receive the gift. Tattered green fell to the carpet and Parker giggled.

            “Saaaaam,” Kat groaned, shooting her husband a murderous glare then smiling down at her son.

            “Sorry,” Sam said, the laughter bubbling out his lips. “He was so insistent.”

            “Parker has an obsession with leaves,” Kat told Dean over her shoulder as she went to work picking up the remains. “Don’t you?” Parker nodded, still grinning.

            “Presents, Mama,” he said.

            “Thank you,” she said. “But leaves are for _outside_.” But Parker was already toddling away, toward a pile of toys in the corner of the living room. He extracted two items and then came back to Dean.

            “Car,” he said. “‘Ean’s car.” He shoved the miniature Impala into Dean’s hand and then held up his own, a blue pickup. “My car.”

            “Yeah, look at that,” Dean said. He had never been entirely sure on how to talk to little kids. It had been a long time since he’d been around any, not since Lisa. They’d had a three-year-old neighbor that Lisa used to love to babysit even though Dean found the kid a little useless. They weren’t any real fun until they got old enough to throw a football.

            “I showed him your car in the garage,” Sam said. “He was very impressed.” Dean smiled down at the toddler but Sam saw the shadow of pain in his brother’s face. He still looked tired.

            “Come on, Parker,” Kat said and the kid followed her like a dog on a leash. Which left Sam still standing in the front hallway staring at his older brother with a worried expression. Dean shifted under his gaze.

            “Stop staring at me, Sammy.”

            “You sure you’re okay?”

            “I’m fine. Your wife just took care of my back. It’s sore, that’s all.”

            “I’ll check it later.” Dean sighed as if he dealt with anxious, over-concerned little brothers every day when in fact it pleased him that Sam was acting like this. It felt good to be worried over.

            “Sam, stop. It’s going to be fine.”

            “Shut up, Dean,” Sam said, kicking off his sneakers. Somehow he’d found sweatpants long enough that they pooled at his feet. “And sit down before you fall down.” Dean hadn’t noticed but he was swaying where he stood, like one of Parker’s leaves in the wind.

            “I’m fine,” he repeated but sat on the couch all the same. No use passing out right in front of Sam; then he’d never stop fussing. His whole body ached from the hunt, from the gashes in his back to the palpable knots that decorated his calf muscles. He’d taken a whack to the knee and had to make a conscious effort not to wince when his jeans rubbed against the bruise. Dean felt the stitches brush against Sam’s shirt as he leaned back.

            “God,” he muttered, lurching forward the moment his back hit the couch. The breakfast he had so ravenously devoured was turning in his stomach.

            “Hold on,” Sam said, those long legs carrying him out of the room and back in less than a minute. He propped three white pillows at the end of the couch. “Go on your stomach with these beneath you. They should give you enough support so your back doesn’t arch too much.”

            “Sam -,” Now Sam was the one sighing.

            “Just do it.”

            Once he was stretched out on the couch – the oddly comfortable couch – Dean felt better. The spots disappeared from the edge of his vision and the pain settled into a rhythmic throbbing. If it didn’t hurt so damn much, it would almost be nice.

            “Here,” Sam said and he must have left the room again because now he was holding out two white pills and a glass of water. “And _don’t_ say you’re fine.” Dean took them because his head was throbbing and his back hurt and his feet were sore and he _wasn’t_ fine.

            Sam sat in the recliner across the room and turned on the TV, pretending to watch a little league baseball game but watching Dean instead. As the pain filtered away and the sleepiness filtered in, Dean moaned into the couch. Sam’s eyes widened but it had been a sound of pleasure, the sound of someone lost who had finally found their way home again.

            Dean wasn’t fine but he would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are liking this!


	5. Chapter Five

            Sam didn’t move from his recliner for a couple hours. The tired, sick part of him was content to watch the absurdly young boys jeer and hit homeruns and spit like they were chewing tobacco. Like they were men and not kids who hadn’t even hit puberty yet.

            It was a Tuesday and there was work to do, at least there was for Kat, and she handed Parker off to a babysitter in the late morning. Sam could hear them in the downstairs playroom. Once upon a time, he was the one who got to play with Parker nonstop while Kat sat in her makeshift office in the guest room, pulling at her hair and eating chocolate while she grumbled about deadlines. But now Sam was sick and he couldn’t keep up with his twenty-one-month old for more than an hour and Kat worked at the kitchen table in case Sam needed her.

            He sat through two games of baseball, dozing here and there to the sound of Dean snoring, waking only when Parker gave a particularly loud squeal. Glancing at Dean, Sam pushed himself out of the chair and laid a hand on his brother’s forehead. As long as there was no fever, they would be fine. But there didn’t seem to be any danger of that; in fact, Dean felt a little chilly and Sam threw a blanket over him before walking into the kitchen.

            Kat was at the kitchen table like she usually was at this time of day, both legs curled under as she held onto a mug of coffee. She was dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxers, like she just rolled out of bed. She always said she worked better in her pajamas but to Sam she looked about eighteen years old. When he first met her, her hair was short, just brushing her ears but she grew it out if only to put as much distance between her and the military as possible. Not it hung below her shoulders, curling slightly and always smelling of her coconut shampoo.

            “Hey,” he said.

            “Hey. Where’s Dean?”

            “Sleeping on the couch. He’s hurting bad I think.” She nodded and looked down again, her neck rigid as her eyes roved over her work.

            “You okay?” he asked because her shoulders were hunched and her fingers tapped out a nervous beat on the ceramic mug. A stack of papers sat in front of her, an open packet of red pens beside it. Sam slid into the seat across from her.

            “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she said without looking up. “I was taking care of Dean and saw those wounds and…God, Sam. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had a brother. ” He had known this was coming, that the shock would wear off and he’d be left with a lot of apologizing.

            “Kat, I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard on you.”

            “Yeah, Sam, it has. Thanks for noticing.” She hated how selfish she sounded, how twisted her words were. Her husband had cancer and here she was, picking a fight. But she couldn’t help it. Not with everything else they had going on. She had a seriously ill husband, was practically a single mother to an energetic twenty-two-month old, and was trying to support her family.

            “Do you want me to ask him to leave?” Sam hesitated. “I mean, he’s too hurt to go now but in a couple days, he could be out of here. Or I could go stay at a motel with him.”

            “No, Sam. The last thing I want is you leaving. It’s fine. He can stay.”

            “What are you working on?” he asked, not quite trying to change the subject but seeing no way it would end nicely if they kept it up. He wasn’t just going to throw Dean out on the streets. Not after three years.

“First round of copyedits,” she said, picking up the uncapped red pen beside all the paper. “My deadline is next week.”           

            “I’m sure you’ll get it done,” he said. She shrugged, refusing to look at him.

            “Kat, please. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And it’s unfair to have him here with so much else going on. Let me go set him up at a motel.”

            She finally looked up, a dangerous glint in her eyes. But then she blinked and it was gone. Kat dropped the pen and sighed, scrubbing her face with her hands.

            “No. No, I’m sorry. I don’t want him to leave. It’s just…” There were so many adjectives that could be used. Frustrating. Stressful. Infuriating. Humiliating.

            “Babe, what is it?” Sam asked in a soft voice.

            “It’s dumb,” she said, voice low, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “No way,” Sam said. “Now you have to tell me.” She glared at him.

            “No I don’t.”

            “Come on. I think you’ve earned a million brownie points this week. Whatever you say isn’t going to be as bad as what I’ve been hiding. Right?”

            “True.”

            “So what is it?”

            “You’re…different…with Dean here. I can’t explain it. It’s not bad; it’s just a side of you I’ve never seen. The two of you are like in sync or something. When he moves, you countermove, and vice versa. You always know where each other are in the room, in the house.” Sam frowned. He hadn’t noticed but that was probably because he didn’t know he was doing any of those things.

            “See?” Kat said, biting her lip. “I told you it was dumb.”

            “You’re jealous?”

            “I don’t think jealous is the right word. I think I just don’t know what to do with it. How to react. It’s like all of a sudden I went from being married to one guy to being married to one guy and an extension.”

            “Dean and I…we’ve been through a lot together. Besides you and Parker, he’s the only family I have. For most of my life, he was the only family I ever had. We’ve seen things, done things that no one else will ever be able to understand and that brought us together. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

            “I’m not asking you to explain it, Sam.”

            “I don’t know what you want from me.” She pushed back her chair and stood but didn’t the leave the room. Instead, she paced to the sliding glass door that looked out over the backyard and then came back to the table to face her husband.

            “I know I asked you this already but are we safe?” Her eyes dug into him like knives, her anger twisting the blades. “Just tell me. I think I deserve to know. You showed up here three years ago, swept me off my feet with your mysteriousness and I thought wow I can’t believe I found a guy who’s handsome and sane. And then I find out you have a brother you’ve never said a word about…” Her voice was raised and she had to take a breath before continuing, “Now there’s someone maybe dying on our couch. Not to mention that there are evil things out there that want you dead. Both of you. So just tell me the truth. Are we safe?”

            Sam leaned back, covering his face with both hands before dragging his fingers through his hair. It was at his shoulders now; almost too long, but he getting a haircut hadn’t been on his to-do list recently. This was all such a mess. Part of him just wanted to lock himself in his bedroom with a bottle of scotch and drink it away. But then he stared at his wife and remembered that he was the one who asked for this life. He wanted to be normal and now he had to pay for it.

            “I can’t guarantee you’re one hundred percent safe. I’ll never be able to do that, Kat. I’m sorry.”

            “I thought I left all this behind when my tours were over,” she muttered. “This is insane.”

            “It’s my fault,” Sam said. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into all this. If you want me gone, I’ll go. I promise.” Her eyes snapped up to his; a different kind of anger flaring.

            “Go? You’re not going. You’re going to stay right here and figure this out.”

            “It might be dangerous,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t thinking clearly letting Dean in here, putting you and Parker at risk. I was just happy to see him. But anything could have followed him here.” Kat’s arms were gripping the back of the chair she was standing in front of, eyebrows raised.

            “You’re not going anywhere,” she repeated. “No way. I can shoot a gun. So can you. So can Dean. You know, once he can move his arms again. We’ll take care anything that comes this way.” Sam couldn’t help but think of how sexy she looked all riled up and talking guns. God, he was in so much trouble. The fire faded to just a flicker and then her head was tilted and he couldn’t decide, maybe _this_ look made her sexy.

            Kat picked up the papers and the pen, holding them close to her chest.

           “This is all crazy but I love you Sam Winchester and I always will, with every bone in my body. I just need a little time to get used to…our new roommate. And your old extracurriculars.” Sam frowned but nodded.

            “Fair enough.”

            “I’m going to go work in the room for a bit.” She glanced at her watch. “Parker will be all yours in about an hour. Is that okay? I should be done soon after that.”

            “Of course. Do you need me to do anything else?” She smiled, almost sadly he thought and brushed at the ends of his hair on her way out.

            “No. I’ll see you in a bit, love.”  


	6. Chapter 6

           Dean pretty much stayed on the couch for the better part of a week, letting the rest of the house continue on around him. Young college girls came at intervals to babysit Parker, sometimes taking him to the park or the petting zoo and sometimes staying in the house, tucked away downstairs. Kat worked at the kitchen table, scribbling furiously through her stack of papers, which looked so ominous, they made Dean want to puke. He hadn’t written anything longer than a letter since high school.

            And Sam watched his brother.

            He watched him like a mother watched a sick child, with an intense stare and gentle hands. He brought Dean soup and crackers and threatened to feed him through a tube if Dean didn’t take at least a couple bites. There was an assortment of crumbled leaves on the coffee table by Dean’s head: gifts from Parker every time the child went outside. Twice a day, Sam would check Dean’s back which had gone from sore to excruciating as the swelling turned into purple and black bruising that rivaled anything Sam had ever seen.

            “Sam!” Dean yelped as his brother applied more antibiotic cream, praying for the millionth time that this wasn’t the start of an infection.

            “Hold still,” Sam said.

            “You’re murdering me!”

            “If I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t do it like this,” Sam said lightly. “I’d do it nice and quick so I didn’t have to put up with all this bitching.”

            “Yeah, well I’m going to kill you nice and slow,” Dean panted. “So you can suffer as much as I am.”

            “You’ve gotten girly since I left,” Sam said. “What happened to the Dean who used to pop his own shoulder back into place against a door frame?” Dean winced both at Sam’s continual mothering and at the memory.

            “Not my best idea, I admit.”

            “I can’t believe you’re not deformed.”

            “Shut up.”

            “There, you’re done. Now you can stop whining.” Sam stood up and wiped the residue cream on his pants as Dean sat up more slowly, reaching behind him for another one of Sam’s stupid shirts – this one navy blue.

            “Outside, Daddy!” Parker came hurling around the corner and flew into Sam’s legs, clutching his father’s jeans tightly and looking up.

            “Are you going outside?” Sam asked. When he tried to move forward, Parker clung to his leg and moved with him. Kat called from the kitchen,

            “I told him you would take him out!” Her voice got louder as she rounded the corner. “I’m almost done but I could really use an hour or so of quiet time.”

            “Sure,” Sam said easily. “Let’s go, Dean.” Dean, who had just settled back onto his pillows, paused.

            “What?”

            “Come on, moving around will be good for you.”

            “I’m practically a cripple, man. I’m not going outside.” Sam rolled his eyes and Kat ducked back around the corner to hide her smirk.

            “You’ll feel better.”

            “Not as better as I’ll feel after this episode,” he said, gesturing to the TV.

            “What are you even watching?”

            “Nothing.” Sam gave out a sigh and picked up the remote before Dean could grab it.

            “This is a soap opera. It’s going to melt your brain. Get up.”

            “C’on ‘Ean!” Parker said, grabbing hold of Dean’s thumb and tugging it. He’d grown used to Dean quickly and used his uncle’s legs as a jungle gym when his parents weren’t looking. Dean was pretty sure some of his newer bruises were toddler-shaped.

            “Fine,” Dean said, glaring at Sam overtop Parker’s head.

            It took fifteen minutes to get Parker ready to go. First Sam had to find both of his shoes, then his coat, then pack a bag that Kat insisted they take.

            “Thanks, babe,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss Sam’s cheek. It’ll finally be quiet around here for once.” She tried not to look at Dean but he felt her sideways glance and rolled his eyes all the way out the door.

            They trio moved at a slow pace. It occurred to Sam that out of the three of them, he was the most stable, responsible one at the moment. That definitely hadn’t happened since he’d gotten sick. It felt like every time he was with other adults, he was being coddled and treated more like his toddler son than a grown man. But now, Dean shuffled at his side, arms stiff as to not jostle his back. Parker kept stopping every couple feet to pick something up and show the brothers.

            “Look, a leaf!”

            “Dirt!”

            “Look Daddy!”

            “‘Ean!”

            “Come here, crazy man,” Sam finally said, swinging Parker up onto his shoulders, the boy giggling wildly the whole time, laughing in great gasps like children did. “We’re never gonna get anywhere.”

            Dean still hadn’t said a word by the time they got to the miniature park a few streets over and Sam plopped Parker down in the middle of the sandbox as he and Dean took a seat on a bench nearby.

            “You look a little better,” Sam commented. And Dean did. There was more color to his cheeks, his eyes were clearer, not so influenced by pain and medication.

            “Mmm,” Dean grunted, eyes on the children in the sandbox. A little girl had joined Parker. She looked a little bit older than him and was playing in the opposite corner but it was obvious Parker was intrigued by his new companion.

            “Do you feel better?”

            “Sure.”

            “Really?”

            “Sam, what do you want me to say? Yes, I’m getting better. I’ll be fine.” The unsaid words hung between them like a rope. Dean didn’t want to sit here and talk bullshit about his torn up back when at the same moment his baby brother was fighting for his life.

            “So, how’s Kevin?” Sam hadn’t dared question Dean about the hunting life in front of Kat or while Dean was drugged up but he was curious about the life he left behind. Dean snorted.

            “Fine. That kid is crazy.”

            “What does he do?” Dean shrugged and then winced, reaching up to rub his shoulder. Over at the sandbox, Parker was scooching closer to the girl.

            “Who knows? He stays locked in his room most of the time. Maybe he’s reading or watching porn or planning on taking over the world.”

            “So he’s going to stay at the bunker for the rest of his life?” Despite his injuries, Dean’s whole body stiffened.

            “I guess. Not like he can go anywhere else.”

            “Not unless Cas shows up and tells you guys it’s okay to come out of hiding.” Dean’s head snapped around and Sam understood the murderous glare for what it was. But that didn’t make it any more comfortable.

            “Cas isn’t coming back,” Dean said. “I don’t want to talk about him, okay? Ever.” Sam threw up his hands.

            “Fine, fine! I was just asking.”

            “Well, don’t. Cas ducked out right after you and I haven’t heard from him since. And I don’t expect to. He’s not any better than the rest of them.” Sam could feel the heaviness in his chest again at the thought of Dean alone. Dean alone eating dinner. Dean alone in the Impala. Dean alone hunting down dangerous monsters. Sam should have been there. He should have sat his self-righteous ass down and clung onto the life he didn’t choose because Dean was his family. He never thought Cas would have left, though. The angel had always had some slightly creepy dependence on Dean and Sam figured the two of them would have been buddies for life. By the time Kevin bothered to tell him about Cas’ disappearance, Sam was already married and they were expecting Parker. He wasn’t about to run out on his family. Again.

            “So, uh,” Dean said, fingers pulling at each other as he thought about how to phrase his question. “What’s the deal with your wife?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Come on, Sam, there’s something about her that’s not normal, right?”

            “Look who’s talking,” Sam snapped and Dean put his hands up.

            “I’m not calling her out on it, I just want to know. She acts like a Hunter. Don’t you see that?”

            Yes, Sam did. It was worse when they first met; it was as if Kat was encased in armor. It had taken Sam while to crack it, to figure out her secret.

            “She was in the military,” Sam said after a minute. “It didn’t end well.”

            “I’m sorry,” Dean said and he meant it. People from the military were always fucked up when they came back from war, at least in his experience. It explained the rigid way Kat sometimes acted, the serious expressions she wore.

            “It’s fine. She just doesn’t like talking about it. She’s entitled to her own secrets,” he said. “Especially after this week.”

            The little girl was talking to Parker now, chattering away like little girls tended to do, brushing her hair out of her face with an impatient hand and pouring sand into Parker’s outstretched palm with the other.

            “He’s quite the player,” Dean said to change the subject, nodding toward the kids, unable to keep a smirk off his face. When Sam was this young, he was so shy, he spent more time hiding behind Dean’s legs than anything else. It was good to see Parker hadn’t adopted that trait.

            “Ah, yes,” Sam said. “That would be Dean Winchester streak in him. He goes after every pretty girl he sees.”

            “If you’re not careful, I’m going to end up liking your son more than you,” Dean said, without looking at his brother.

            “Easy to do,” Sam commented.

            “Don’t sell yourself short,” Dean said and it was so unexpected, Sam forgot to wipe the shocked expression off his face before turning to look at Dean. Dean, however, was completely turned away from him, watching the far side of the park as if a movie was playing in the distance. “There’s lots of good things about you, Sammy,” he said, softer then before. “Don’t doubt that.” He rose and stretching as much as he could, continued, “Well, I’m going to take a walk. If I don’t move soon, I won’t be able to get home. I’ll be back in a bit.”

            And he left, leaving Sam with his lower jaw hanging. Dean’s moments of tenderness were usually reserved for when Sam was on his deathbed. Or dead. And even though he was aware of how sick he was, he was still very alive. What had warranted the sudden emotion then?

            Maybe Dean had been the one who changed most over the past three years. Sam hadn’t thought it was possible but maybe his brother was becoming someone that others could see the good in and not just Sam. Maybe.

            It was that thought that gave Sam hope. That maybe even without Sam by his side every minute there was still a reason, a purpose, for his brother to keep living. He could be loved.


	7. Chapter 7

            Sam knew something was up when they walked back into the house and Kat was dressed in a nice sweater and jeans. She had curled her hair and the scent of perfume floated around her.

            “What’s going on?” Sam asked, giving his wife a kiss. “You look great.” She glanced over his shoulder; Dean was already back on the couch and Parker was watching his uncle. Thankfully, he hadn’t brought any leaves home this time but she did notice he was covered in sand.

            “Well, Steph called and invited us to this dinner thing.”

            “What kind of dinner thing?”

            “Just us and them. It’s not a big deal. And it’s been so long since we’ve seen her and Ted.”

            “I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave Parker with Dean,” Sam commented.

            “I wouldn’t do that.” Kat looked offended. “I told her we would all go.” They both looked at Dean and Sam said,

            “All of us?”

            “All four of us,” Kat said. “How bad could it be?” Sam bit his lip and tried not to cringe at the thought of moody Dean being entertained at a dinner party.

            “I don’t know, Kat,” he said but when he swung his gaze back toward his wife, she was gazing up with him with wide, innocent eyes. She never got to see her friends anymore; she was always too busy taking care of Parker or taking care of Sam or trying to finish stuff for work. Sam couldn’t remember the last time they had gone out with friends. “Okay,” he said and her smile alone was worth it. She kissed him again, letting a quick hand sneak up his shirt before turning away and gathering up Parker.

            “Bath time!” she said, tickling the toddler’s stomach. She shot Sam a look. “You guys go get ready, we’re supposed to be there in an hour.”

            “Great,” muttered Sam. “Uh, Dean?”

 

            “I’m not going,” Dean said for the tenth time, sprawled on Sam’s bed as his brother tried to find him an outfit. Sam was already wearing a pair of dark jeans with a navy button down and he had shaved, knowing Kat didn’t really like when he let his facial hair go for more than a couple days.

            “You’re going,” Sam said. It felt like he was talking to his toddler more than his older brother. “Here, try this.” He tossed a sweater at Dean who pinched it between two fingers like it was contaminated.

            “Hell no,” he said, flinging it back at Sam who caught it and put it back in the closet. It was the third shirt Dean refused to try on. “I’ll just stay here.”

            “No,” Sam said.

            “Why not?”

            “One because I don’t want to leave you alone just yet and two because I told Kat that we would all go. She’s expecting you to be there.”

            “Yes,” Dean allowed, ignoring the first part of the statement, “But would she really be shocked if I didn’t go?” At that moment, Kat walked past the room, holding Parker in a towel.

            “Hey, Dean, did I mention that my friend’s sister is visiting? She’s some type of exotic dancer in Vegas I think.” The change in Dean’s demeanor was almost disturbing.

            “Why didn’t you say so?” He grinned at Sam and grabbed a maroon button down from Sam’s hand, ignoring his brother’s exasperated sigh.

            Forty-five minutes later, all four Winchesters were dressed and ready to go. Kat held Parker’s diaper bag and a plate of some fancy cheeses, Sam held Parker, and Dean had hold of a bottle of wine Kat had instructed him to carry.

            Steph and Ted lived only a couple blocks away so the group traipsed on foot, stopping in front of a house considerably larger than Sam and Kat’s.

            “Geez,” Dean breathed to Sam as they walked up the front path. “Must be nice.” He expected Sam to reprimand him but Sam just whispered back,

            “I know, right?”

            A woman about Kat’s age met them at the door, gushing over the wine and cheese and cooing in Parker’s face until the child turned away.

            “The twins are downstairs in the playroom,” she told Kat who took Parker from Sam and led the way into the house. “Sam, it’s so nice to see you.”

            “Same to you, Steph,” Sam said, giving her a polite peck on the cheek. “It’s been a while.”

            “I know,” she said, voice dripping with sympathy. “I was so sorry to hear about your relapse.” Dean chose that moment to let out a loud sigh. “You must be Dean!” Steph said, turning to him with a wide smile. “Kat told me you are staying with them for a while. That’s so nice of you to come take care of your brother.”

            “Yeah,” Dean said, smiling broadly. “That’s me.” Sam clapped him on the back hard and Dean cringed.

            “Dean’s always been so supportive,” Sam said.

            “That’s wonderful,” Steph said, completely missing the tension between the brothers. Dean’s hand reached for the pill bottle in his front pocket but Sam’s hand swatted it away before he could pull it out. “Come meet my sister, Melanie,” she said. “I don’t think you guys have met, Sam. She can hardly ever get away from work.” Sam rolled his eyes when Dean gave him a thumbs up and followed Steph into the house.

            Melanie was dramatically good looking. She was about ten years younger than anyone else in the room with a thin face framed by tendrils of curly blonde hair. She wore a silky, green blouse that was left unbuttoned enough so everyone could admire her unblemished skin. As far as Dean could tell, she wasn’t wearing anything under it. He liked her immediately.

            “You know,” she said to him at dinner. “My name isn’t really Melanie.” Dean raised his eyebrows and glanced around but the other three adults were deep in conversation about the best way to potty-train.

            “Really?” She shook her head and diamond earrings flashed.

            “No. It’s Sapphire.” Dean almost choked on his chicken, but Melanie – Sapphire – was watching him as if she had just told him she planned on pursuing a PhD.

            “Wow,” Dean said, eyes watering. He took a sip of water. “That’s a great name.” She beamed.

            “Thanks! You know, Steph threw a fit when I officially changed my name but,” she shrugged. “There was nothing she could do about it. I’m twenty-five and can make my own decisions.”

            “Exactly,” Dean said. Just as he was about to excuse him to go find a beer or anything stronger, Sam shot him a look and gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what Dean was planning. Easy for him, he was holding a glass of red wine. But as long as Dean kept talking the pain medication, Sam wasn’t going to let him drink. One of the reasons Sam had refused to leave him alone tonight.

            “So, uh, Steph told me your brother is sick,” Sapphire said. If she was trying to get Dean’s attention back, it was a terrible thing to say.

            “What?”

            “Cancer, right? That’s just awful.” The flirting stopped being fun.

            “Yeah,” Dean said, watching Sam as he turned back to answer a question from Steph’s husband Ted. All of a sudden, Dean felt nauseous; this house was big but he’d never felt more claustrophobic.

            “Sorry,” he muttered to Sapphire and left the table, the back of his chair banging into the wall, probably leaving a mark. Sam called out after him but Dean kept moving, wrenching open the front door. As soon as the cool air hit his face, he felt better.

            “Dean?” Sam had followed him outside. “What happened?”

            “Nothing,” Dean said. He fiddled with his shirt, untucking it so that some of the breeze floated beneath it.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Stop asking me that, Sammy!” Dean shouted. Sam reared back as if slapped. “I’m sorry,” Dean said a second later. “Listen, it’s just -,” he waved a hand at the house. “It’s too much. Too soon. I haven’t – Christ, I haven’t been around anyone other than monsters for three years Sam.” He gave a hoarse laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a little out of practice.”

            “I’ll take you back,” was the only thing Sam said. “Let me just tell Kat.”

            “I don’t need a babysitter,” Dean said.

            “I know. I want to go with you. We don’t even have to talk but I’ll come with you.” He disappeared into the house and came out a minute later, holding both of their jackets. Dean took his but didn’t put it on; his back hurt too much. He fumbled with the cap on the medicine bottle then dry-swallowed two pills. By the time they made it back to the house, the pain had settled into a dull ache.

            “Sorry I yelled,” he said and under the influence of the pills, Sam thought he sounded like a contrite child.

            “It’s okay, Dean. I shouldn’t have made you come.”

            “I want to be normal like you.”

            “Okay, Dean. Let’s go to bed.” Sam made him take off the shirt and put on of Dean’s own t-shirts before letting him crawl under the blankets. Dean was passed out before Sam could finish taking off his shoes.

            This was going to be more difficult than he thought, having Dean live with him. His brother wasn’t shaped for society; he wasn’t a cookie cutter human being that you could display at dinner parties. It was going to take a while before Dean could function at a normal level, if he ever could. There was so much Hunter left in the man, Sam didn’t know if there was room for anything else. In their old world, that made Dean stronger, better. But here, it was his vulnerability. It made him different.

            Sam left the room with a promise to try harder, for his brother’s sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are enjoying this so far! :)


	8. Chapter 8

            Dean woke to the sun, shining through his window with the force of his heavy-duty flashlight. Not matter how much he crushed the pillow over his head, it wasn’t dark enough to go back to sleep. He muttered a string of curses under his breath as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He eased a new shirt over his back, ignoring the spots of blood that dotted the t-shirt he slept in. His back felt stiffer and sorer today but some of the sharp, intense pain was gone.

            As he was on his way to the kitchen, a small chirp came from behind him,

            “‘Ean!” He paused. The chirp came again. “‘Ean!” Dean cocked his head and backpedaled until he was standing in front of a partially opened door. Parker’s room. He raised a hand and pushed it open to reveal the child’s room, with soft yellow walls and white furniture. In one corner was a changing table next to a dresser topped with wooden farm animals. In another corner was a rocking chair, decorated with a quilt and a few plush toys. And against the far wall was Parker, sitting in a crib and looking straight through the bars at Dean. He clambered to his feet as Dean took a few steps into the room, stretching out his arms toward his uncle.

            “Up!” he declared, grasping at the air with chubby fingers.

            “Oh no,” Dean said, taking a step back and looking around the room as if Kat was going to jump out of the closet. The toddler’s face fell.

            “No up?”

            “No up,” Dean said, holding up a finger. “But I’ll go find your mom.”

            A quick search of the house turned up no Kat and when he looked out the window, he noticed one of the cars was missing. Sam was nowhere to be found either and Dean found himself standing in front of the crib again.

            “They wouldn’t leave me with you, would they?” he asked the child, who grinned back at him. Sam had always been trusting but he’d never been stupid. Parker stared at him while clutching the leg of a stuffed duck.

            “Okay,” Dean said. “Let’s go.” Parker beamed and reached up to Dean as Dean bit back a groan of pain and settled the child on his hip. Parker curled an arm around Dean’s neck, hitting him in the face with the duck. What child carried around a duck? Dean was pretty sure he had had a stuffed car. When they got to the end of the hallway, he stopped, not sure what to do with the kid.

            “You hungry?” Parker shook his head.

            “Juice!” he said, pointing toward the fridge.

            “Juice it is,” Dean said. He bent to grab the purple sippy cup from the top ledge of the fridge and then carried both the drink and the child into the living room where he set them on the couch.

            “There,” Dean said. “Just stay put until I find your parents.” Parker looked at his uncle over the top of his the sippy cup that he gripped with both hands. Dean took a step back and almost fell. Cursing, he looked down and found three small cars beneath his foot.

            “My cars!” Parker shrieked, scrambling down off the couch, spilling the drink in his rush. He scooped up the toys with both hands, gazing up at Dean with an injured expression.

            “I’m sorry, little man,” Dean said, crouching down beside the child. “Trust me, they probably did more damage to my foot than I did to them.” Parker examined each car with scrutiny and, finding them intact, pulled his sippy cup close to him and plopped down on the rug.

            “Toon-toons pwease.”

            “What?”

            “Toon-toons pwease,” repeated Parker, staring at the TV.

            “I do not have any idea what you’re saying, buddy,” Dean said. It was like the kid was speaking another language. Dean could manage a few phrases in Spanish and maybe a word or two in Italian but when it came to child gibberish, he had no clue.

            “Cartoons. He wants to watch cartoons.” Dean turned to find Sam standing at the edge of the living room, hair damp, grinning down at his son as Parker stood and toddled to his father.

            “Daddy!” Sam carried him back to the couch and turned the TV on to some animated show Dean had never seen in his life. The toddler, still clutching all three cars, the sippy cup, and the stuffed duck, curled in his father’s lap, head on his chest.

            “Sorry,” Dean said, gesturing to the kid. “He called out when I passed his room and I couldn’t find you guys and -,”

            “Dean, it’s fine,” Sam interrupted. “Kat went out for a bit and I jumped in the shower. Thanks for getting him out of his crib.”

            “Yeah, sure. Was, uh, Kat mad about last night?”

            “Not really. She was more worried than anything. I told her you weren’t really the sociable type and that you still didn’t feel well. She understands.”

            Now that he was sitting on the couch and light was filtering through the living room window, Dean felt stupid for getting so upset at dinner. Why couldn’t he just learn to deal with other people. Truth was, they terrified him the way the things he hunted should have. You could track a werewolf, a vampire, a shapeshifter. But not humans. They were so unpredictable and according to Dean, not good for much but messing things up.

He tried to watch the cartoon but there were some talking animals and a talking boat and god, there were even talking trees. He glanced at Parker who seemed entranced by the bright colors and high-pitched voices. He didn’t resemble his mother much but he sure looked like the two men sitting next to him, with Sam’s long hair and Dean’s green eyes. He even had the making of John’s defined jawline. Sam caught Dean watching his son.

            “I can’t believe you have a kid,” Dean said, voice low.

            “I know,” Sam said softly.

            “Why – Why would you do that?” Sam gave him a quizzical look. It was true that Sam had never wanted children, had never even considered it. He and Kat had talked briefly during their short engagement but they both agreed that they didn’t want to bring a child into this kind of world. They had both seen too much violence, too many people die to ever want that for someone they would be responsible for. But then Kat had gotten pregnant.

            Sam had been working as a handy man around town at that time and she had called him when he was on a job. His cell phone had gone off while he was under some old lady’s sink, trying to fix a non-working faucet. Sam ignored the call at first but then his phone rang twice more.

            “Hold on ma’am,” he said, scooching out from under the sink and grabbing his phone from his jacket pocket. Kat’s number flashed up at him.

            “Hey babe, it’s not a good time,” Sam said, watching the old lady scowl at him from her perch at the kitchen counter.

            “Sam?” Kat’s voice wobbled and slipped through the phone’s speakers. Something was wrong.

            “Kat? Are you okay?”

            “Please come home.” She was crying; he could tell. Kat never cried. Not during sad movies, not during the few major fights they had had. She didn’t even cry when she was happy. But she was crying now.

            “I’m on my way,” he assured her, hanging up.

            “Mrs. Grace, I’m going to have to come back later. There’s a family emergency.”

            “You’re leaving?” she said indignantly, sliding off the stool and watching him pack up his tools much like a lion watches his prey.

            “Yes, ma’am. I’m so sorry. I’ll give you a call later and we can reschedule.”

            “Don’t bother,” she said as he practically sprinted out the front door.

            Sam’s thoughts spiraled out of control as he broke the speed limit ten times over to get to their house on the other side of town. It had been less than a year since he left the bunker, it would be easy for someone to track him still. Demons or angels or other hunters. He and Dean had made a lot of enemies over the years. The thought of anyone hurting Kat made his heart pound painfully. Sam wasn’t sure he could handle losing someone else he loved.

            Before walking into the house, he grabbed a knife he kept in the back of his car. Then he ducked quietly into the garage and found a loaded pistol he kept on the top shelf, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. There was salt in the kitchen, if he could get there in time, and he kept a vat of holy water under the sink in the bathroom. Anything else he needed, he didn’t have on hand. Just outside the front door, he flipped his cell phone to his contacts and pulled up Dean’s number, leaving it on that screen if he had to call for help.

            Just in case.

            “Kat!” he said, walking into the house. It was four in the afternoon but every light was off, the living room and kitchen empty. “Kat, are you here?” He was about to pull the knife from his belt when a noise came from the darkened hallway. There was a sniff.

            “Sam?” He walked closer to her dark outline, footsteps soft on the carpet.

            “Babe, are you okay?” He was near enough to see her clearly now, even in the dim light. She was still in her pajamas, eyes red and swollen from crying. Her hands were shaking. “What’s wrong?” He peered into the bathroom but no one else was there. The cold metal of the gun pressed against the small of his back as if urging him forward.

            “I have to tell you something,” Kat said through the tears.

            “Okay.”

            “Don’t be mad,” she begged and Sam started to feel a different kind of panic. What was going on? Was someone dead? His thoughts flashed first to Dean and then to Kevin. Oh god, someone had called and told her. He hadn’t been there.

            “Babe, I’m not going to be mad. Just tell me.” There was urgency in his tone.

            “I’m pregnant.”

            Sam felt the breath leave his lungs, felt his shoulders slump in relief as thoughts of a dead Dean faded away. There was nothing wrong with his brother; there was no one else in the house. Kat was fine. Everyone was fine.

            “Sam?” She looked fearful as if she expected him to explode and he wondered for a moment how such a strong woman could be reduced to this.

            “You’re what?”

            “I know,” she said, turning away from him and heading into the bathroom, where there was more light. Lying in the sink were no less five pregnancy tests. “We were so careful but…” She turned back toward him. “I’m sorry.”

            “Sorry?” Sam repeated. He was still trying to get over the fact that nothing was threatening his life. Or his wife.

            “I know you said you never wanted kids…”

            “No!” Sam said loudly and she jumped. “I mean, no, god Kat, this is good news.” She cocked her head like a puzzled dog.

            “It is?”

            “Yes!” Sam felt like laughing.

            “But you said -.”

            “I can’t believe you’re pregnant,” he said, reaching out to her and pulling her into his arms. Sure he said he never wanted kids but that was before. He laid a hand on her stomach and felt her warm skin underneath his palm.

            “There’s a baby in there,” she whispered, looking up at him. Her eyelashes were still wet and they dampened his face when he bent to kiss her.

            “Our baby,” he said. She pulled away.

            “Are you sure? Because I know we said-,”

            “Shh,” he said, “I know what we talked about. But I’m in if you’re in.”

            “I’m in,” she said firmly. He lifted her up then and there, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her across the hall into the bedroom where he laid her on the bed.

            “I didn’t think you could get any more beautiful,” he said, the adrenaline of the scare still pumping through him. “I was wrong.” She blushed and pulled him down onto her, each working feverishly to remove the other’s clothing. Kat’s nimble fingers worked fast until she felt the gun. She scrambled out from under him, moving backwards until she was at the edge of the bed.

            Sam’s stomach dropped. He had forgotten about the weapons tucked into his jeans.

            “Shit. Kat, I’m sorry. I just -.” She let out a tiny shriek of fury as he pulled both the knife and the gun from his pants.

            “What the hell?” she said. “What the hell are you doing with those, Sam Winchester?” She stood up and pulled on her shirt, already laying her hands across her stomach in a protective gesture. Her eyes were full of anger and fear and distrust.”

            “Listen, it’s not what you think.”

            “Please, tell me what it is then, Sam, because I’m not quite sure you want to know what I’m thinking.”

            “I thought you were in trouble. When you called, it made me nervous.”

            “So you came home with a knife and gun,” she said incredulously, raking a hand through her dark curls. Sam had put his shirt on and sat on the edge of the bed, the weapons beside him.

            “I was worried.”

            “Worried husbands come home as fast as they can. They don’t stock up on ammo first. How could you do this? You know how I feel about guns, Sam.” Her voice broke over his name and she looked away, biting her lower lip, something she did when she was trying not to cry. He was silent.

            “Where did you even get a gun?”

            “I had one,” he said quietly. “I’ve had one for a long time.”

            “Do you even know how to use one?”

            If there was a moment to tell her about hunting, that was it. He could tell her and she probably wouldn’t believe him at first but then she’d come around and she’d understand so much better. Why he checked the doors and windows three times before he came to bed each night. Why he insisted on having a top-level security system for the houses and cars. It was why they each had two cellphones, why he had trouble letting her out of his sight in unfamiliar places.

            But he didn’t want to tell her. He wasn’t Sam Winchester the hunter anymore; thinking of that part of his life was too painful. For ten months, he had worked hard every day to keep Dean out of his thoughts, a surely impossible task. He couldn’t tell her and drag her into his past mistakes. He wouldn’t.

            “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

            “How?” He sighed.

            “Can’t you just trust me? I will never  _ever_  do anything to hurt you or the baby. I would die before I let anything happen to you.” She stared first at the gun and then at her husband. Kat wasn’t stupid; she had minored in psychology in college and she could see the pain in her husband’s eyes. She knew there was something he wasn’t telling her. But then she thought of the deaths she had caused while in active duty, the way her mind counted them each night like bones in a skeleton and she unfolded her arms.

            “I can take care of myself.”

            Sam let out a long breath at her soft tone.

            “But I never want to see that again,” she said, pointing to the gun. “You either get rid of it or hide it somewhere I will never find it. Including during spring cleaning.” She kissed him on the cheek and headed out of the room, hand on her stomach, mumbling under her breath about idiotic men. And just like that, Sam Winchester let the past slip away again as he followed his future out the door.

            He recalled that day as humorous now, sitting next to Dean and his fast-growing son. He swore the child grew another inch every day.

            “Parker was an accident,” he told Dean. “But only until we found out. After that, it was as if we were always meant to have him.” Dean look unconvinced but so did every other bachelor who didn’t have a child.

            “I named him after you.” Sam said.  Dean looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye.

            “You did what?”

            “His middle name is Dean. Parker Dean.”

            “Aw come on, Sam. Did you really have to do that? The poor kid,” Dean said, leaning against the cushion, testing his back against the soft fabric. Sam heard the quiet moan.

            “Your back hurt?” Dean’s eyes flickered to him.

            “You’re not going to stop asking me that, are you?

            “Nope,” Sam said and Dean nodded, accepting the fact he was going to be annoyed until his back healed. Surely after that Sam couldn’t find anything to nag him about.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a new supernatural series up on my profile, check it out!

            They spent the morning on the couch watching TV with Parker until Kat came home, her arms full of groceries. Dean’s appetite was back and he ate his way through two sandwiches and half a bag of chips.

            “So what are you two up to today?” she asked, watching with an expression of slight disgust as Dean licked the crumbs from his fingers. Sam had only nibbled on his own sandwich and Parker was eating leftover noodles. There was butter smeared all over his face.

            “Nothing,” Sam said. “What about you?”

            “Work. Someone’s gotta do it, you know?”

            “Better you than me,” Sam teased. Dean tried not to gag onto his empty plate. Living with a married couple was going to take some getting used to.

            “Anyway, my mom is going to come by and pick up Parker.” She glanced at her watch. “She should be here in about an hour.”

            “Does she live nearby?” Dean asked.

            “About two hours away. She’s going to take Parker for a couple days.”

            “I told you that’s not necessary,” Sam said. The words were forced and weary as if the two had had this conversation several times before.

            “I know you did,” Kat said as Dean looked between them. “But think of it as less stress for me than anything to do with you.” Sam rolled his eyes and picked at the sandwich in front of him.

            “Sorry, what’s going on?” Dean asked. He took the sandwich away from Sam before he could dissect it and stuck half of it in his mouth.

            “Sam has chemo tomorrow so my mom is going to watch Parker for a couple days.”

            “You didn’t tell me that,” Dean accused, swallowing. “When were you going to tell me?”

            “Sorry I didn’t realize I had to clear my schedule with you. It didn’t seem important.”

            “Chemo didn’t seem important? Really?” Dean said. Before Sam could retort, Kat stepped in.

            “Guys. It doesn’t matter. Now you know, Dean. Things will be a little rough around here and I don’t want to have to look after a toddler. And I don’t want him disturbing Sam.” Sam stood abruptly, pushing his chair all the way to the wall and dumped his dish in the sink.

            “I’m going out,” he said and the front door slammed shut a second later. Kat just stared down the hallway.

            “I’m going to guess he doesn’t like it when your mother comes?” Dean said.

            “It’s not that. He doesn’t like missing time with Parker. And he doesn’t like that I try to make things easier for him.”

            “Sounds like Sam.”

            “Yeah. I thought he might be different with you around but he’s the same. Still dumb and stubborn when it comes to his own health.”

            “Hey,” Dean said and she looked up at him. “Now it’s two against one, right? I want him to live enough for all three of us. We’ve got this.” It was a pep talk in every sense of the word but it seemed to do the trick. Kat squared her shoulders and picked up the dishes from the kitchen table, coming back with a cloth to wipe Parker’s face. The toddler squirmed away from his mother and Dean swore he saw the kid send him a _help me_ glance.

            “Lean forward,” Kat said, coming around the back of Dean’s chair.

            “What?”

            “Forward,” she said, pushing on the back of his neck where she knew he wasn’t so sore to get him to move. She tugged at the hem of his shirt and lifted it up.

            “They look a lot better,” she commented. “I think you’ll live.” Dean’s arms were folded on the table, his chin almost resting on them as she examined him. She prodded at the puffiness and Dean bit the inside of his cheek. “I can’t believe you haven’t died from all this yet,” she said.

            “Well,” Dean said. “That’s not a totally accurate statement.”

            “Right,” she said. “You’re a Winchester so I assume you’ve risen from the dead.” He was surprised she hadn’t asked about the faded white handprint on his upper shoulder.

            _I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

            “Guilty.” She pulled his shirt back down and he leaned back. Parker waved at him from his high chair and Dean waved back. When Kat spoke again, her voice was carefully nonchalant.

            “Do you think it could happen again?” Dean’s stomach dropped. He’d been afraid of this from the minute he found out about Sam’s cancer. He was sure Kat had just been waiting to get him alone and not high off painkillers.

            “No,” Dean said as gently as possible. “I don’t.”

            “Oh,” was all she said but it held the weight of utter disappointment. “Why not?” Dean did not want to have this conversation. Not when he wasn’t even sure there was nothing he could do.

            “Kat, he’s not dead yet. I’ve learned never to act like something is dying before it’s not.” Her cheeks burned red but he pretended not to notice. “If we still need to have this talk in a couple months or whenever, then I’ll explain everything.”

            Her answer was to unbuckle Parker from his chair and walk away, leaving Dean alone.

* * *

            Kat’s mother was younger than Dean thought she would be. Her hair wasn’t gray yet and she was as almost as in shape as her daughter. Only the wrinkles on her face and her clothes revealed her age.

            “You must be Dean,” she said when he opened the door.

            “Yes,” he said. “I’m Sam’s brother.”

            “I’m Barbara. Kat has told me a lot about you,” she said. “She says you just showed up here last week.” It was obvious was prodding for the truth and Dean felt it was only fair to give it to her. If she was anything like Kat, she’d find out anyway.

            “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I got myself into a bit of trouble on a hunting trip and Sam patched me up.” She scrutinized him with the same blue eyes Kat possessed before breaking into a warm smile. “Well, I’m glad to welcome you into the family,” she said, hugging him. “Sam always said he didn’t have any family but I knew that couldn’t be true. He had the look of a man who’d been looked after. Kat said you were the one who raised him.” Kat had said that? Sam must have told her, because Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t phrased it like that.

            “Partly,” Dean said. “We grew up on the road, our dad was busy a lot.”

            “I already like you, Dean,” Barbara said. “If you’re anything like your brother, you’re worth having around.” Dean’s cheeks flushed from the compliment and he took Barbara into the kitchen. Sam had come back and was finishing cleaning the kitchen while Kat got Parker ready to go.

            “Hello, Sam,” Barbara said, standing on tiptoes to wrap her arms around Sam. She held him for a beat longer than usual. “I’m so sorry about this.” Sam managed a smile but it was unconvincing.

            “Thanks,” he said. “It will be fine. Thanks for taking Parker. I told Kat you didn’t need to but she’s not listening to me.”

            “Don’t be silly,” Kat’s mother said, pulling away. “I live too far away as it is; I need to spend time with my grandson before it isn’t cool to be seen with Grandma anymore!” Sam chuckled. “Besides, you adults need some alone time, I assume. You probably have a lot of catching up to do with Dean. And God knows, Kat could use a break.”

            “She could,” Sam agreed and Kat appeared at the top of the stairs, holding Parker in one and a small duffel bag in the other. The diaper bag was already on the table.

            “Nana!” Parker said.

            “My favorite grandson!” Barbara replied, reaching and taking Parker from Kat. “Are you ready to come to my house?”

            “Cookies?”

            “You know,” Barbara said, pretending to think about it. “I think I made some cookies yesterday. Just for you.”

            “Cookies, Mama!” Parker squealed, twisting in Barbara’s arms to peer at his mother, who was double-checking that everything was in the bags.

            “Yep,” she said distractedly. “I heard.”

            “Sam, why don’t you and Dean go move the car seat to my car? I can never quite figure that thing out.”

            “Sure,” Sam said. Dean was about to protest that he’d never even touched a car seat when Sam yanked him out of the room.

            Barbara waited until they were out the door before setting Parker down and turning to her daughter.

            “How are you doing?” Kat refused to look up.

            “I’m fine.”

            “Come on, Kat, really. How are you?” Kat gave a shuddering sigh and sank into a kitchen chair. She ran her fingers through her hair and kept her gaze on her son as he wandered around the room, looking for trouble.

            “I don’t know, Mom. Everything has been so crazy. With Sam’s cancer coming back and Dean showing up. And I’m on a deadline with work. Things just keep piling onto my plate and I don’t know how long I can keep it up.”

            “Dean seems nice enough,” her mother commented. She stood behind her daughter and rubbed Kat’s shoulders, which were thick with knots. Kat leaned her head back in pleasure.

            “That feels good,” she murmured. “Dean’s fine. He’s been kind of out of it so I haven’t talked to him much. But…it’s the happiest I’ve seen Sam in a long time.”

            “Really? Sam has always seemed perfectly satisfied whenever I’m around.”

            “No, it’s not like he was unhappy before, I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like he’s more content. Now that his brother is here, I can’t believe I didn’t know he existed. The two of them are pretty remarkable to watch together.”

            “What do you mean?” Just as she had with Sam, Kat struggled to put it into words.

            “They’re so attuned to each other, you can just tell how much time they must have spent together.”

            “Well, you said that Dean practically raised Sam, right? That’s what Sam told you? So it makes sense. They haven’t seen each other for three years, sweetie. It’s probably a little odd for them to be together again.”

            “I’m sure,” Kat said, wincing as her mother worked on her tight muscles.

            “So you think Dean will be helpful to have around?”

            “Oh, yes,” Kat said. “Like I said, Sam is just so much better with him around. When we found out last week about the relapse, he was devastated. He tried to shake it off but this disease is haunting him, Mom. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Maybe he won’t get as depressed with Dean around.”

            “Sounds like God sent you an angel.” Kat snorted, thinking of the two and a half sandwiches the man had inhaled at lunch. Some angel.

            “It will be nice to have an extra set of hands around the house. Dean _is_ really good with Sam. I want to be there for him but I’ve got less than a month to get this book finished. If I don’t, my publisher is going to drop me.” Barbara wrapped her daughter in a hug from behind, holding her tight.

            “You’ll get it done, darling. I’m here whenever you need. And now Dean’s here. You’re not in this alone.”

            “Thanks, Mom. You might be watching Parker a lot. I think Dean’s scared of him.”

            “Scared of our little boy?” Barbara asked, swinging Parker into her arms as he rounded the corner, holding a box of cheerios. “Who could be scared of this sweet thing?” Parker giggled as she kissed his cheek.

            “Hungwy, Mama,” he said and Kat caught the box of cereal just in time as it slipped from his fingers.

            “You just had lunch!” she said but pulled a plastic baggie of snacks from the diaper bag and handed it to him. “Here you go. Be good for Nana, okay?” He nodded, shoving fistfuls of cereal into his mouth at once.

            “Dean just has to get to know you more,” Kat’s mother said, holding onto Parker and putting the diaper bag over her free shoulder. Kat grabbed the duffel. “Then he will not get scared one bit. He’ll be tickled pink!” Parker found this funny and laughed, spraying crumbs all over Barbara’s sweater.

            “Just three days,” Kat said on the way to the car. “Then bring him right back. Unless there is a problem. Then bring him back sooner.”

            “Stop fussing,” her mother said. Dean and Sam had finished up with the car seat and were waiting for the women. “We’ll be fine. We’re going to see the dinosaurs tomorrow.”

            “Daddy!” Parker said and Sam reached for the child as the women loaded the car. “Bye-bye Daddy!” Parker said.

            “Can I have a hug?” Sam said and the toddler obliged, wrapping his little arms around Sam’s neck. He surprised everyone by reaching for Dean next.

            “Bye-bye,” he said as Dean held him, trying not to look awkward. He needed no prompting to give Dean’s neck a hug as well.

            “See you, little man,” Dean said. He wouldn’t tell anyone but he was secretly delighted the kid liked him so much.

            “Okay,” Sam said, buckling his son in and making sure he had his toy cars and snacks within reach. “Be good, Parker.”

            “Okay, Daddy,” he trilled, waving at the four adults.

            “It was nice to meet you, Dean,” Barbara said. “You’ll be good for Sam, I bet.”

            “Thanks,” Dean said, surprised. The fact that this family – Kat, Parker, Barbara – had all accepted him with so much love and respect made him feel as though he was worth something instead of just a mess-up. If he’d known Sam had a family like this, he wouldn’t have waited three years to find him. Dean had a lot of lost time to make up for.

            “Good luck,” Barbara said, wrapping Sam in another hug. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

            “Thank you,” Sam said. “I’m sure you’re right. It’ll be over before we know it.”

            “Maybe if you’re feeling better by this winter, we can all go on that cruise I’ve been saving for.” Dean’s ears perked up. He hated planes but boats were another thing altogether. A cruise he could handle. The white, sandy beaches, the blue ocean.

            “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Kat said, opening the driver’s door. Barbara winked.

            “Think of it as some motivation for quick healing.” Sam laughed.

            “We’ll see you Friday.” The three of them stood in the driveway, waving until the car had disappeared around the bend.

            It was too quiet in the house without the constant chatter of the toddler. Kat took it as an opportunity to lock herself in the bedroom to do some work while Sam draped himself over the couch, ready for a nap. Realizing he had nothing to do, Dean rescued a beer from the fridge and sat down next to his brother, turning the channel to the afternoon baseball game. Sam was asleep within ten minutes but Dean had never felt so content in his life. It was if his childhood wish had come true: Sam and Dean not hunting and just enjoying a suburban life on a sunny afternoon.

            It was almost as if nothing was wrong.


	10. Chapter 10

It was Kat who woke Dean the next morning, banging on the door like the apocalypse was starting up again.

"Dean? Are you in there? Dean?" He pulled his head out from under the pillow and opened the door. "Oh," Kat said, looking more surprised than she should to find him standing there. It was his bedroom after all. He wondered how long she had been knocking. "Um. Can you take Sam to his chemo appointment?" Dean was still half asleep and his back itched. He wriggled his shoulder blades and was rewarded with a burst of pain. He couldn't wait for his back to hurry up and heal. All the pain and stiffness was getting old.

"What?"

"I have to run to an emergency meeting downtown that I really can't miss. My publisher didn't tell me they were going to be in town until late last night. And it's Sam's first dose of this round so I don't want to ask a neighbor."

"Um…" Dean wasn't sure what to say. He didn't really want to take Sam to the hospital. That sounded like a terrible way to spend the day.

She flashed him a smile and started walking down the hall, pulling a sweater on as she did so, turning around as she was about to round the corner into the kitchen. "The appointment is in about an hour and a half. Sam's still sleeping. Wake him up soon. Thanks, Dean!"

"Great," Dean muttered, shutting the door and flopping back down onto this bed. He lay there for a while, trying in vain to get back to sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was watch Sam sit in the hospital. All he knew about chemo was that Lisa's grandfather had done it and still died. Of course, he had been nearly ninety years old so the odds were against him from the start. Not like Sam. Dean couldn't imagine being ninety years old and still having the will to live. He couldn't imagine being ninety years old in general. It had been enough of a shock – and a lot of good luck – to make it to thirty then thirty-five then thirty-seven. God, thirty-seven sounded old. He promised himself then and there that if he ever made it ninety, he'd kill himself before anyone could try and save his life with some stupid medical cocktail of poison.

With that comforting thought, he got out of bed again and went to wake his brother. It was the first time he'd been in the master bedroom and he was surprised to find it painted a deep red-orange, so different from his own light blue walls. The furniture looked like oak or mahogany, dark and heavy. And there was Sam in the middle of it all, sprawled across the double bed. Dean watched him for a moment; when Sam was asleep, it was impossible to tell he was sick. His chest rose and fell underneath the blankets, his breathing soft and easy. Dean hated to wake him; he'd let his little brother sleep forever if he thought that would fix things. It used to. Getting Sam to go to sleep when he was little was far from an easy task but Dean could usually convince him to close his eyes by promising that tomorrow would be easier, better. It usually wasn't but Sam didn't know that. He believed Dean.

"Alright, up and at 'em," Dean said, pulling the comforter off his brother. Sam groaned and rolled over, shoving his head under a pillow. Some things never changed.

"Go away."

"Good try," Dean said. "But your woman insisted." Sam cracked an eye.

"Dean?"

"In the flesh."

"Get out of my room." Dean crossed his arms indignantly.

"Hey, be nice to me. I'm your brother." Sam snorted and buried his face back into the pillow, wrapping his arms around it and hugging it close to his body.

'No, really, you have to get up. You have some doctor's appointment or something." Sam uncurled an arm long enough to wave Dean away.

"Fine. I'll be out soon."

Dean was foraging for food in the fridge when Sam walked out, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. He spared his brother a sideways glance than went back to rummaging.

"Here," Sam said, holding out a basket. "Kat usually leaves muffins or something around." Dean eagerly pulled out three blueberry muffins. Bless Kat; they were still warm.

"Your wife is gold, man," Dean said, mouth full. Sam gave him a tired smirk and set the basket back down.

"You gonna have any?" Dean said. Sam shook his head.

"No. Not much point in eating before chemo." Dean's chewing slowed by a fraction as he realized what Sam meant and then he shrugged nonchalantly.

"More for me."

Hospitals gave Dean the creeps; they were graveyards for the living. Dean had never been in the hospital for a happy reason. He let Sam lead the way inside, directing them to large, open area that had curtained rooms around the border. There was a bed and an armchair in each section along with various medical equipment. Sam walked up to the nurses' station.

"Sam Winchester," he said. "I have an appointment at ten." The nurse at the desk was young and blonde and her chest was prominent even under her scrubs but Dean was too uneasy to notice.

"Sam?" Sam turned to find an older gray haired nurse standing behind the boys, clasping a folder to her chest.

"Cynthia!" Sam said, giving the woman a hug. "I wasn't sure if you were working today."

"Are you here for another round?" she asked, eyes full of sincerity.

"Unfortunately. But you know me; I just couldn't stay away from all the beautiful nurses here." Sam smiled and winked good-naturedly. ""Had to do something to get back. This is my brother Dean, by the way. He's staying with Kat and me for a while. Dean, this is Cynthia. She's amazing. She's the one who did my chemo treatments last time."

"Nice to meet you," grunted Dean. He had to get out of there before he puked in front of all the sick people. An old woman was staring at him from the corner and it was making his skin crawl.

"I'll take him," Cynthia told the attractive nurse who pouted for a moment, watching Dean. He gave her a tight smile.

"I think I'm just going to go get some air," Dean said to Sam, who had already started to walk away.

"I'll be done in a couple hours," Sam said over his shoulder. Cynthia's arm was around his back in a comforting way; Dean felt like he was leaving Sam in capable hands. It's not like he was going to do any good here.

As soon as he got out of the ward, he felt better. The atrium of the hospital was huge with a glass ceiling that let in so much natural light, the fluorescent lighting that hung in other parts of the hospital wasn't necessary. There was a small kiosk selling coffee and pastries and he dug for change to buy a coffee: black. He needed something to wake him up. The bitter liquid sloshed in his stomach but it also set him more firmly on his feet and the woozy feeling disappeared. He meandered around the lobby for a while, stopping in front of an impressive display of pamphlets. On many of them were laughing people. Laughing children, laughing husbands and wives. Who the hell laughed at the hospital?

 _Childhood Cerebral Palsy_  read one and on it was a little girl grinning up at a doctor as she held onto a pair of crutches. There was a boy in the background, apparently bending over in sidesplitting laughter, his wheelchair just a blur.

False advertising at it's finest.

Dean reached for the one that had a dog on it because he couldn't keep looking at those happy faces, not when he felt so miserable. He perused the information without reading it, more bored than anything else. Then his eyes caught something interesting and he stuffed the pamphlet in his pocket. He turned around to leave and almost knocked over a kid who had been standing right behind him.

"Sorry," he said, reaching out a hand to steady her.

"It's okay," she said. "What were you doing?"

"What?" The girl was about thirteen or fourteen and didn't have any hair, just a pink bandana wrapped around her head.

"Were you reading those?"

"Uh, no. Yes. Kind of." She was smiling at him, hands clasped behind her in innocence. The pink skirt she wore matched the bandana, as did the white and pink blouse she wore. She didn't look like she belonged in a hospital but a TV commercial for Disneyland.

"All the new people read the pamphlets," she explained. "Did you take any?" Dean started to lie and then stopped himself; there was no reason not to tell the truth.

"Yeah," he said, bringing it out of his pocket and handing it to the girl. She examined it and nodded.

"This is a good one. Who's it for?"

"My brother," Dean said, taking the pamphlet back.

"What does he have?" Instead of being annoyed, Dean was amused by the girl's bluntness. He appreciated anyone who didn't try to pull any bullshit. Everything about this girl was wide open.

"Cancer. It's - uh - in his blood."

"I have cancer too," she said. "But it's in my bones. So it's kind of the same but not really." She could tell the conversation made him uncomfortable so she changed tactics. She walked to the wall of pamphlets, tapping a painted nail against her cheek before grabbing three more and handing them to Dean.

"These are good ones. You should read them."

"Er, thanks."

"Where's your brother now?"

"Chemo." Her eyes widened as her eyebrows went up.

"And you're not with him?" He couldn't believe he was letting a kid make him feel guilty. He raised his coffee as a lame excuse. The girl wrinkled her nose then did something unexpected. She slipped her hand – her  _tiny_ hand into Dean's much larger one.

"I'm Emma." Dean was too shocked to pull his hand away. Who was this girl?

"Dean."

"Come on, let's go see your brother."

"Aren't your parents going to be looking for you?" She looked at him as if he were crazy.

"It's a hospital, Dean. How much trouble could I get into? I've got cancer; they won't care if I disappear for ten minutes." It wasn't solid logic but it worked for Dean and he let himself be led back into the depths of the hospital.

Sam's head was back against the recliner chair, eyes closed, half of his body covered with a blanket brought by the nurse. As Dean watched, Sam's stretched his legs and gave a sigh, blinking his eyes open to look at Dean. It took him an extra moment to process the sight of Dean holding hands with a young teenager dressed all in pink. The girl grinned at him.

"Hey," he mumbled, sitting up straighter. "Who's this?"

"I'm Emma," the girl said, letting go of Dean's hand. He was looking around as if planning out where the nearest exits were and how long it would take to get out of the place. "I brought your brother back for you. He was wandering." Sam laughed and looked at Dean, who shrugged.

"Hi, Emma. I'm Sam." She looked curiously at his IV and brandished the catheter in her hand at him.

"I have chemo later; is this your first time?"

"No," Sam said. She moved closer to him and stroked Sam's hair.

"You're lucky you didn't lose your hair," she said. It was the first time since Dean met her that she sounded anything less than overjoyed.

"Yeah, but I don't get to wear cool wigs like I bet you do." Emma beamed and launched into a description of the one her best friend had just bought her. It was electric blue and someone named Katy Perry had one just like it.

"Anyway, I just wanted to meet you. Dean's very worried about you." She winked at the elder Winchester who rolled his eyes and took a sip of coffee.

"Nice to meet you too, Emma," Sam said, smiling. Before she left, she stopped and waved a threatening finger under Dean's nose.

"Don't leave him. Chemo alone is no fun, okay?" All Dean could do was nod and then the pink-clad girl was gone.

"What was that about?" Sam asked.

"No idea," Dean said. "She pounced on me in the lobby and made me come back. Now that I wasn't going to come back," he said hastily.

"It's okay. You don't have to stay. I know you don't like hospitals."

"And risk being rounded up by Emma again? No thank you. I'll take my chances here." He lowered himself into a plastic chair pulled up against the wall. Sam's eyes were closed again and that made Dean feel even guiltier for trying to duck out. His brother was sitting here while being injected with a toxin that would make him sick before it made him better and Dean was attempting to escape? He'd never felt like such a coward.

He turned his attention to the football game on TV but couldn't focus.

"Sam?" Dean said a few minutes later. "Are you awake?"

"Yep." The hazel eyes opened. "What's up?"

"I-uh-I'm sorry I missed your wedding." There was silence then,

"It's okay." Dean shook his head, leaning his elbows on his knees, a crease forming in between his eyebrows.

"No, it's not. I should have been there. Out of all the bad things we've shared together…I should have been there to share the good things too. I missed your wedding. The birth of your kid." _I missed so much_ , he was trying to say.  _And I'm sorry._  Sam stayed quiet. Even though he was no longer angry with his brother, some small part of him was glad Dean was sorry.

"It was a nice wedding," he said finally, tilting his head back again and giving the ceiling a shadow of a smile.

"Tell me about it," Dean said softly. "I want to know."

"Kat was beautiful. Beyond beautiful." Sam told him. "She didn't let me see the dress beforehand. She went shopping for it with her sister and her mom. We got married in this little church in her parents' town; it's about two hours away from here and when she walked down that aisle –," he stopped to look Dean in the eye. "It felt like the first time I was seeing a real angel." In any other circumstance, Dean would have scoffed. Or laughed. Because they both knew true angels weren't always the good guys. There was a hush to Sam's voice as he went on.

"Dean, it was like everything else just disappeared. From the moment I saw her, nothing else mattered. Marrying Kat was the first time in a long time that I actually felt free, like she was given to me as a second chance." He laughed to himself and then looked at Dean, eyes brighter than Dean had seen them in the last few days. He looked like a little kid again. "Go ahead and laugh," he said.

"I'm not laughing, Sammy," Dean said.

"It sounds silly though, doesn't it? Even now, it sounds kind of ridiculous to me," Sam said after a second. "That just one person can change your whole life. After everything we've been through, everything I've done, I never thought I'd get a happy ending."

 _Not much of a happy ending,_  Dean thought as he watched the medicine drip into Sam's veins. Fight poison with poison. But he smiled all the same, indulging his younger brother. After all, Sam had always been the one with the imagination while Dean's mind was rooted in practicality and hard evidence.

"I hope that you find it one day, Dean," Sam said. "I hope you let someone change your world."

"Maybe," Dean said, letting an image of Lisa flash in his brain before pushing it away a second later. "But I don't need my world changing anymore than it already has." Sam just gave him a smile, one that suggested he knew something that Dean didn't.

"Anyway," Dean said, shifting in the plastic chair. "Tell me more about the wedding."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Ten got posted twice but this is the correct Chapter Eleven. Sorry about that!

By that night, Dean couldn't help but agree with Kat's decision to send Parker to her mother's. Sam had been fine during the actual treatment. He fell asleep toward the end and Dean had to help him out to the car. It was once they were back in the house that the vomiting began. Not even on his worst hangover, during his deadliest bout with the flu, had Dean ever seen Sam throw up like this. He stood hovering in the doorway of the bathroom as Sam hugged the toilet, sweat coating his face and neck, dampening the t-shirt he wore into a darker shade of gray.

"It's always like this?" Dean asked Kat in between waves of nausea. Sam was sitting on the tile floor of the bathroom, head tilted back against the wall.

"Sometimes it's worse," she admitted. "Sometimes we have to go back to the hospital. They have him on anti-nausea drugs but as you can see, they don't do much good."

"And this is supposed to help cure him?"

"It's supposed to," Kat said, handing Dean a bottle of mouthwash and a toothbrush still in the package. "Can you handle this for now?" Dean nodded and he heard her take a seat at the kitchen table. She'd been staring at her laptop all day, fingers pressed against her temples in frustration. He didn't dare ask her how the book was going.

"I think I'm done," Sam said a little while later.

"Here," Dean said, reaching to haul him up, letting his brother lean against him until he got his balance back. "Mouthwash and a toothbrush." He waited until Sam was holding onto the sink for support and dug a new t-shirt out of his closet, one that wasn't drenched.

"Thanks," Sam said, collapsing onto the bed after changing.

"Do you need anything else?"

"I just need to sleep," Sam said. "I'll be fine later. Trust me, this time isn't so bad. Just wait."

Sam slept all afternoon. He slept through dinner. He was still sleeping by the time Kat closed her laptop and called it a night. She and Dean sat on the couch, each with a beer, watching some sitcom.

"Long days," was the only thing she said. "Long days are coming."

"How often does this happen?" Dean asked. He was exhausted just from watching Sam be exhausted.

"Every five days, as long as his levels stay up. This is when we hope and pray to stay infection-free."

"Got it."

"Cheers," she said and they clinked bottles.

"What do you think?" Sam asked Kat one afternoon about two weeks into chemo. He hadn't had treatment in a couple days and was feeling pretty good. He was standing at the slidig door in the kitchen that went to the backyard; Kat had brought the kiddie pool out of the shed and a diaper-clad Parker was splashing Dean who commandeered the hose with a look of absolute glee.

"What?" Kat asked. She was bent over her laptop, chewing on the end of her ponytail.

"Dean. What do you think of him?"

"I like him, you know that." Sam gave a sigh, unwilling to turn his gaze from his brother and son. He trusted Dean with his life but a toddler?  _His_ toddler?

"What's wrong?" Kat said, dropping the ponytail from her mouth and looking up. The sun coming in through the sliding door made her husband all but a silhouette and she took in his powerful frame with greedy eyes. Almost three years to the day she met him and he still took her breath away.

"Nothing," Sam said, craning his neck to watch Parker waddle-run around the side of the house, Dean following close behind.

"Did you guys get in a fight?" his wife asked, coming over to him, searching for the two boys outside. Dean's gravelly voice could be heard from the right side of the house but she couldn't make out what he was saying. A minute later, he came back in view with Parker slung over his shoulder fireman style. The kid was giggling so hard his face was red.

"No," Sam said. "I was just wondering what you see when you look at him." Kat tilted her head, watching her brother-in-law set her son into the kiddie pool, taking a handful of water to the face in the process.

"That's an odd way to phrase it."

"Says the writer," teased Sam, glancing at her for the first time. She smirked.

"Yes, honey, leave the word choices to the professional." Sam smiled and went back to staring out the window. Parker had found the leftover bottle of kitchen soap Kat had left on the deck and was emptying it into the pool with Dean's help. The elder Winchester's hands covered the tiny ones completely as they wrapped around the bottle. Dean knelt in the wet grass and swirled the water around to make bubbles appear faster while Parker put first one leg in the pool then the other, thumping to his butt in a cloud of white foam.

"I just wonder what other people see when they look at him," Sam explained. "I see my brother and the thousand memories that go with him. The times he saved my life, the look on his face when I walked out all those times, everything. It's like I can't unsee any of that."

"Makes sense," Kat said. "We all want to know what strangers see when they look at us. But you want to know how I see Dean? I see a man who loves his family above all else. I see someone who is ready to put everyone else ahead of him because he knows it's the right thing to do. I admit he's a little rough around the edges, some parts of him frighten me at times, but I can see he's trying." She hesitated and Sam caught it, throwing her another glance, this one curious and prodding. Kat continued, "Some of the time he seems so happy here. Like now," she said, gesturing outside. Parker had one of his uncle's hands in both of his and was trying in vain to tug Dean into the pool. "And when he's with you. It's like home isn't a place for him, but people." She shrugged. "But other times he just seems so lost, Sam. Like he's permanently unsettled, always waiting for something to come next."

"That's been his life," Sam said. "Almost his whole life. Just waiting."

"It's sad if you think about it," Kat said. "What kind of life is that?"

Sam hadn't thought about it, not like that. Was he wrong in thinking that Dean still loved hunting? It was obvious when he was younger, but now? The thought that Dean might want to settle down had never occurred to Sam, at least not in many years. Maybe not this week or this year or in five years even but someday, eventually, Dean might want to be part of a family like Sam's.

The thing that nagged Sam about this thought was that he didn't think Dean knew how, didn't know if Dean was even capable of this kind of civilian lifestyle. Hunting had damaged Sam's body but what about Dean's soul?

"Do you think he could make it with a family?" he asked out loud, more to himself than to Kat, but she answered anyway.

"Yes," she said. "But he would have to find someone to give up his life for. Someone other than you." And Kat didn't think that was going to happen unless Sam wasn't alive. She liked Dean, she hadn't been lying; she might even go as far to say she loved him as a brother, but he was attached to Sam in a way she didn't understand. It was like Sam was Dean's purpose for living. Kat loved her husband but he was his own person; she had herself to worry about, and Parker. Dean didn't seem to go through that thought process; it was as if all his instincts went straight to Sam. She was still getting used to the way his eyes followed Sam around the room whenever they were together, the look of pure worry and anxiety when Sam was sick. Maybe it was because she had no siblings. Or maybe it was because she had no siblings she had carried out of a building burning and then spent most of her life on the road with, slaying all things that went bump in the night.

That would mess anyone up.

Parker was crawling up the deck stairs now, using his hands as leverage. He was sopping wet, his hair plastered to his head and neck, bubbles ringing his neck like a strand of beads.

"Mama!" he said, spying her through the glass. He slapped two soapy palms to the door and Kat smiled while groaning at the same time.

"I just washed those," she said, waving back.

"Hi Daddy!" Parker said, craning his neck to look up at his father. Sam waved.

"'Ean wet," Parker announced, trying to get the door open but he was a couple inches too short. Sam opened it for him but stood in the doorway, blocking the drenched child from getting inside.

"Hi Daddy!" he trilled again. "I wet."

"I see that."

"Outside," Parker demanded. Sam shook his head

"I'm staying inside. But you have Uncle Dean to play with."

"Ha. Uncle Dean is a little tired." Sam's brother was walking up the deck steps. His t-shirt and the front of his jeans were soaked through and he had bubbles in his hair. Kat turned to grab something off the table behind her.

"'Ean!" Parker said, racing up to his uncle and pulling on the folds in his jeans. "No inside."

"Aren't you cold, little man?" Dean asked.

"No!" Parker tucked his small hand into Dean's bigger one and started leading him back down the stairs. Kat had her phone up to the door, snapping pictures at the duo as they went back to the pool.

"They are too cute," she said while Sam shook his head at the thought. Who would of thought, Dean Winchester, the babysitter?

When she was done talking pictures, Kat wrapped an arm around Sam's waist, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"He'll be fine, Sam. Just give him some more time. I think being here with you, with us, is helping."

"I hope so," Sam said but the doubt that stayed in his heart could be heard in his voice. He just wasn't sure.

Whenever Sam came home from chemo, he would get sick. Sometimes just once or twice but usually it was for a good couple hours. Dean would wait nearby with mouthwash and clean clothes and sometimes paper towels if they were having a bad day. Then Sam would pass out for the rest of the day and Kat and Dean would get ready for tomorrow.

The biggest challenge of the days after was getting Parker to be semi-quiet when Sam was napping. Sam was grumpy and tired and sore after treatment. Kat was better at getting him to eat something because when Dean tried, it always ended in threats to shove it down Sam's throat if he didn't take a bite.

"Is that blood?" Dean said, alarmed, when he walked into the bathroom after almost three weeks of chemo. He had left to grab a new roll of paper towels from under the kitchen sink to see Sam trying to scrub something red off the toilet.

"It's not a big deal," Sam said, voice hoarse; it was always hoarse these days.

"Sam, you're throwing up blood. That's a big deal!" He was about to call for Kat when Sam shook his head.

"No, I'm not. It's the sores. Look?" He folded down his lower lip and opened his mouth. He'd just swallowed a mouthful of Listerine so he didn't smell that bad and Dean leaned close. Sam's mouth was indeed full of sores; some just red and raw looking while a couple were bleeding.

"That's a freaking side effect?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, looking miserable. "That's why you haven't been eating as much the last few days, isn't it?" Dean sighed. Cancer was a bitch. Dean thought back to the months where Sam didn't have a soul; that had been a hell out a lot easier to handle than this. He'd take soulless Sam back in a heartbeat if it meant that he didn't have to deal with vomit and bleeding gums and the fact Sam had fallen asleep right at the table yesterday. Hell, he'd almost take the Sam that was addicted to demon blood over this.

Kat finished her book. She was over her deadline by a week – something she reminded Dean of at least three times of day and that last week she almost never looked up from her computer. Barbara would come and take Parker every few days so Dean didn't have to deal with both Sam and the toddler, even though he'd grown fond of the child. He had been surprised on the day Kat has asked him to take Parker out.

"Dean?" Sam's wife was sitting on the living room floor helping Parker put together a puzzle that was supposed to help him learn his animal sounds. For a week the kid had been speaking in tongues.

"Yeah?" Dean came out of his bedroom where he'd been cleaning his gun, something that he had fallen behind in doing. Sam was sleeping in the bedroom and Dean had had a little extra time on his hands.

"Can you run to the store? We're running low on milk and eggs, you know, the essentials."

"Uh, sure," Dean said, wiping grease residue on his jeans.

"Can you take Parker?" Dean, who had been heading back into the bedroom to put away the gun and grab his keys, stopped mid-stride.

"What?" Kat was still on the floor but her eyes were pleading with Dean as Parker babbled next to her. She stuck out her lower lip like a child.

"Please. I'll show you how to work the car seat and it's just to the grocery store." Parker grew bored with the puzzle and walked over to Dean, holding one of the pieces in his hand.

"Woof-woof," he said, dangling the puzzle piece in front of Dean. "Woof-woof." Dean took the gift being offered and Parker headed back to get another one.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. Sure he had watched Parker a few times while Kat was out and Sam was sleeping but never for more than a couple hours and he'd never taken the kid somewhere by himself.

"Yes," Kat said. "I just need one hour of quiet. This manuscript has got to get done." Parker was back in front of Dean.

"Mooooo," he drawled and Dean couldn't help but smile, taking the cow from him.

"Alright, little man," Dean said. "Let's go for a ride."

After their trip to the grocery store and the ice cream stand and to stop and pet every "woof-woof" they saw, the two Winchesters made it back home in one piece. And after Kat learned that trip had been so successful, she was much more lenient on using Dean as a babysitter.

So there Dean was, the day Kat had to send in her book, juggling an energetic twenty-three month old and brother who wouldn't stop puking. It was the second to last dose of chemo for this round but by far the nastiest. They'd been home almost five hours and Sam was still on the bathroom floor. Dean was entertaining Parker in the bedroom so he could be close when Sam needed him, but the toddler was in one of his moods.

"No!" he shouted, throwing a book at Dean, who caught it before it could smack him in the face.

"Hey! Throwing isn't cool," Dean said. The kid stomped his foot and picked up a plastic car, cocking his arm back. "Don't you dare," Dean said but his nephew launched the toy anyway, narrowly missing Dean's head. "Parker do you need to go in timeout?" He heard Sam gag beyond the closed bathroom door.

"No!" Parker yelled, sticking out his little neck, tiny fists clenched at his side.

"What do you want?" Dean asked. Even though he no longer minded watching Parker, the kid could be so confusing and temperamental. A little like Dean. Instead of answering, Parker just howled and started to cry.

"Please be quiet," Dean begged. "Mommy's trying to work."

"I want Daddy!" There were tears rolling down those chubby cheeks.

"I know," Dean said. "I'm an awful stand-in. But Daddy's busy." Parker sniffed and all of a sudden the tears were gone and he was giving Dean a sly look.

"Cookies?" Dean snorted; he still had a tough time deciphering between a real temper tantrum and one that was created to attain sweets.

"Fine," Dean said. He put the child on his shoulders and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Sam, I'll be right back. You okay?" There was a muffled grunt. "Okay," Dean said as Parker wrapped his fingers in Dean's hair, which was getting too long. He had to get to the trimmers before it started resembling his brother's.

"Hi, Mama!" Parker said, having done a complete one eighty from two minutes ago when he'd been sobbing.

"Hi, honey," Kat said. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was wearing the same clothes she had yesterday. Dean doubted she had ever gone to bed last night.

"We gets cookies," Parker explained, reaching for the box over Dean's head.

"Not too many," Kat said and both the boys nodded. It was cute how attached her son was to Dean. The older Parker got, the more he resembled his uncle. Not just his eyes but in the way his face was started to lose it's baby fat and become more defined. He often jutted out his chin when he was upset just the way Dean did. They were similar except for the fact Parker liked to keep his hair long "like Daddy's" while Dean's was much shorter. Dean was a little rough around the edges but he was a good role model. She would be lucky if Parker grew up like his father and uncle.

"Sam, how you doing?" Dean asked once they got back to the room. Parker sat on the bed, eating some kind of multigrain cookie things that Kat insisted they buy. Dean would never eat one but the toddler liked them well enough shove one after another into his mouth. The only answer was a clatter from the bathroom. "You okay in there?" There was a moment of silence and then a louder crash. Dean opened the door to find Sam on the floor, struggling to get to his feet. His cheeks were flushed from exertion and when he looked at Dean, he saw his eyes were just as bloodshot as Kat's. The two of them really were the perfect couple.

"Easy there," Dean said, crouching down. "You okay?"

"Get off me," Sam croaked. Dean threw his hands up.

"Alright, I'm not touching you. What happened?"

"Nothing." But there was already a bruise forming on Sam's forehead, near his hairline.

"Yeah, I bet. Did you fall?" Sam averted his eyes.

"No."

"Daddy?" Parker was standing at the bathroom door, both hands clutched to the cookie package, eyes open wide with curiosity at the fact his daddy and uncle were sitting on the floor. Sam turned his head away.

"Parker, go play with your toys," Dean said and he saw the glint in Parker's eyes just before the wailing started again.

"Jesus Christ," Dean said as the cookies hit the floor. Sam shifted on the floor, gathering up his long legs to stand and Dean turned his attention from the screaming child to his brother. "Sam, please stop moving. You're going to hurt yourself. I think you have a fever."

"I'm fine," Sam said but stopped moving.

"I'm going to get your ice for your head. Just stay put." Parker's face was a deep red as he stood crying in the doorway. His little body was stiff and taut as if his feet had been glued to that very spot.

"Enough," Dean snapped and Parker stopped crying long enough to look at him in surprise. Dean couldn't believe that had worked. But then Parker started crying again, harder this time.

"Kat!" Dean exploded. "I could use some help here!" She was there in ten seconds, looking from the screaming child to Sam who was just visible behind Dean. And Dean…well, he looked like he was on the verge of combusting

"What happened?" she said, picking up her son as he reached for her. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"He fell," Dean said, voice tight. "He hit his head and I'm pretty sure he has a fever. And your kid won't stop screaming."

"Dean," Kat said in a quiet voice. Parker had his face turned to her collarbone and his tiny shoulders were quaking in sobs. "Go take a walk."

"What? No. I have to get ice for Sam."

"I'll get it. Seriously, go take a walk. You're too stressed out to handle this. Come back in twenty minutes." Dean wanted to help his brother, he really did, but his heart was racing to the rhythm of his pounding head. He hadn't been sleeping well. He was exhausted and smelled like a mixture of vomit and toddler spit. That was not what Dean was made for; he was meant to be kicking down doors and wielding a gun in each hand. Those were the things he knew, not this.

He took another glance at Sam and walked away.

Later, when both Parker and Sam were asleep, Kat found Dean on the back porch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He hadn't shaved in a while and shadow of facial hair aged him by years. There was such a calloused look about him; it was hard to believe he had yet to hit forty.

She had showered and changed into actual clothes, not her work sweats. The final edits of the book were sent in and there was a glass of red wine in her hand. She sat in the seat next to Dean and started talking, voice soft.

"I know you're used to doing everything by yourself but no one can handle this by themselves. I would know; I tried, last time. We're going into this together and we're going to come out together. But it only works if everyone is on the same page. So next time you need help, please ask. It doesn't matter if I'm working. They're my family too."

"I used to take care of Sam by myself," Dean said, not defensively, not boasting; he said it like someone would announce a statistic. A fact. "When our dad wasn't around, it was all on me. I fed him, got him to sleep," he swiveled in his chair to face her, one hand on his knee. "I've killed for him, more times than I can count. And I would do it again. I'd trade my soul for him again in a heartbeat if I could."

"He doesn't want you to do that," Kat said and Dean laughed without humor.

"He didn't want me to do it the first time either."

"Everyone needs help sometimes." The look in Dean's eyes was sharp, accusatory.

"We never had help," he said. "We were on our own and that was good enough. I just…"

He shook his head, dropping his gaze but Kat kept her eyes on the man beside her. She wanted desperately to help him, reach out to me, but she just didn't know how. Sam hadn't exactly an easy book to read – even after being married almost three years, it was hard to know what he was thinking at times. But it was different with Dean; it was like trying to read a foreign language. She could only make guesses and it frustrated her.

"I don't know why I can't take care of him anymore." She pretended not to notice his voice cracking on the last syllable because that's what she thought he would want.

"You don't have to be the only one to help him, Dean. Not anymore. Maybe when you were little Sam was all you had but not anymore." She kept her voice gentle; she wasn't trying to provoke jealousy. "He has me. He has all his friends here that want to help." Dean's head ducked in a nod but he still wouldn't look at her. She put a hand on his arm, feeling his muscles tense under her fingers. "And you have me too. You're family now, Dean, and that means we look after each other. Doesn't it?"

Finally, he swung his gaze to her and it was unreadable, a blank page she wasn't sure she had managed to write on.

"I just want to take care of him. That's what I'm supposed to do," he said.

"I know."

"Kat, I don't know who I'm supposed to be if I'm not his brother."

"No matter what happens," she said. "No matter if Sam lives to be fifty or ninety-nine or if he dies tomorrow, you will always be his brother."

Dean took a sip of his drink, letting the bitterness wash down his throat with ease. From this angle, they could see the sun as it started its descent from the sky, reminding them that there would be days after this one. There would always be more days for him.


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Kat fretted, searching through her purse yet again. "Sometimes these appointments can take a while."

"We'll be fine," Dean said. Parker was playing a few feet away, unaware his parents were about to walk out of the house. Sam was already at the door, one hand on the doorknob. It had been a couple weeks since the last round of chemo and the difference between the man who lay sweating on the bathroom door and the one smiling now at his nervous wife was dramatic. He was still too thin but there was actual color in his cheeks and his energy had improved a considerable amount.

"Babe, let's go," Sam said. "You don't have to worry. Dean will be fine."

"Okay, okay," she said, pulling the purse over her shoulder and giving Parker a kiss on the cheek.

"Bye, sweetie," she said. "Be good for Dean.

"Bye-bye," Parker said without looking up. He was too focused on pouring a pile of leaves out of his dump truck onto the carpet.

"Call if there's a problem," Sam said, winking as he led his wife out the door. "But we should be back by this evening. Maybe sooner."

Husband and wife rode to the hospital in silence, except for the radio. The two hadn't had a lot of alone time in the recent past and seemed to be reveling in the fact that there wasn't a whining toddler in the backseat.

"Are you nervous?" Kat asked as Sam parked the car.

"I feel good, Kat. I think it's going to be good news." She slipped her hand into his as they walked into the hospital together, Sam giving her a kiss on the forehead before leaving to get changed and prepped for all his tests. Today was the day they found out if the chemo was working. Today was the day she found out if she got to keep her husband a little longer. She tried to entertain herself as she sat in the corner of the waiting room, but the book she brought couldn't keep her attention off the fact that somewhere above her, Sam was being poked and prodded and stabbed with needle after needle. He took it with his usual good nature; she'd never seen him get upset with any of the nurses or doctors. His calm demeanor had saved them from getting thrown out of a couple places throughout the last few years, including the restaurant where they had to wait four hours for food and then hadn't gotten a discount.

It was hard to picture him shooting or stabbing anything. Sam was always so gentle, not only with her and Parker but with everyone. The neighbors, people he met on the street, even animals. She'd witnessed him strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger while pumping gas, sending them away with a smile on their face.

Her phone vibrated and she pulled it of her bag, tossing the book back inside. It was Dean.

_Any news yet?_

_Not yet,_ she typed.  _Probably not for a couple more hours._

A while after that, a nurse came out and told her that Sam had to wait a bit before his next scan and she could go see him.

"Hey, handsome," she said when she walked in. He was dressed in one of those ridiculous gowns. She knew from experience they didn't do much to cover her husband's 6'4" stature. The gown was hanging off one shoulder and he looked tired but his eyes brightened when he saw her. She held the hand that wasn't hooked up to an IV.

"Thank God," Sam said. "I was going out of my mind with boredom."

"You? I've just been sitting out there with not even nice nurses to talk to. How's it going?" He shrugged and the gown slipped another inch. She would have fixed it but all that bare skin was kind of sexy, even if he was lying in a hospital bed.

"The usual, you know." She dragged the nail of her pointer finger lightly across his skin and he squeezed her hand tight.

"I can't wait until this is all over," she said and Sam wasn't sure if she was talking about today or the entire process of taking care of a sick person. "What do you want to do when we're free of all this?" she said, flipping his palm face up to draw overlapping hearts on it with her fingertip.

"Whatever you want to do, babe," he said.

"Let's go on a vacation, just you and me. My mom can watch Parker and Dean can watch the house – if he's still around. We can go somewhere warm like Hawaii or Mexico."

"That sounds nice," Sam admitted. "You know I've never been on a real vacation. Vacations when we were young were just moving to a different motel. We spent every break on the road. And after we got older…" he shrugged, "There are no vacations when you're a Hunter."

"That settles it then," Kat said. "Sam Winchester, I'm taking you on vacation. This winter." He gave her one of those smiles that melted her heart and she leaned down to kiss him. They were interrupted a minute later when a nurse came to get Sam. Kat reluctantly let go of his hand but he was still smiling.

"Bring him back soon," Kat told the nurse, not taking her eyes from her husband. Once he was out of sight, the nerves returned and Kat went back to the waiting room to pace. It was another hour before Sam was done after that, the two of sat together until the doctor called him in for consultation.

"Sam, Kat, I'd say it's nice to see you again but…" Dr. Jones was a white-haired doctor with a belly that shook when he laughed. His happy personality didn't match the strained atmosphere of the oncology ward but he could cheer up someone in the darkest of moments. But he also didn't bullshit his patients either; he always gave Sam the straight facts and that's exactly what Sam wanted.

"How's it look?" Sam asked, rubbing his sweaty palms along his jeans. Dr. Jones folded his hands and put them on the desk in front of him, looking first at Kat and then at Sam.

"To be honest, there's some good and bad news." Thank god he didn't ask which one they wanted first, he just kept talking: "The good news is that the chemo has slowed the progression of the cancer."

"Slowed it?" Kat asked. "But it's not gone?" Dr. Jones shook his head and Kat thought she was going to throw up. Sam was just nodding his head, looking at the floor. She saw him swallow hard.

"So what do we do?" Sam asked, staring hard at Dr. Jones, his jaw set.

"We could try another round of chemo but it's not a secret that you have a bad reaction to it. Looking back at your blood work from the past six weeks, your levels were borderline to receive the treatment. Other doctors might not have even treated you. People think that chemotherapy is a miracle cure but the truth is, it can kill you almost as easily as the cancer." It felt like Kat's blood had turned to ice water.

"But he's been feeling great," she told the doctor. "Haven't you?" Sam dipped his head in a nod.

"It's not a lost cause," Dr. Jones said. "Like I said, it's slowing the progression of the cancer. You aren't getting any worse."

"What would you suggest?" Sam said. His mind was racing. This sounded as good as a death sentence. Sure the cancer might be slowing but that didn't mean it would eventually stop. It infuriated Sam that there was nothing he could do about it; he was doing everything right and therefore he should be getting better. The fact he had no control over his own goddamn body made him want to hit something.

"I think we wait a little bit for you to get some of your strength back, your blood work to get better, and then we do another month or so of chemo." Sam's knuckles were white from gripping the arm of the chair so tightly. "We go from there. How does that sound?" Sam could only nod. Kat stood and shook the doctor's hand, letting Sam's hand on the small of her back guide her out of the office.

"Just one second," Sam said when they were in the hallway. "I'll be right back." He ducked back into the office. "Dr. Jones, I just have a question."

"Sure, Sam."

"What – uh – what could cause someone to have such a bad reaction to the chemotherapy drugs?" The doctor's eyes were gentle and understanding as he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Some people just have a low tolerance for the drugs we use." Sam grimaced.

"Yeah but is there anything that would make someone weaker?"

"An example being…?" Sam tried to remain nonchalant but it was difficult to keep his voice from trembling.

"Like drugs or anything. Something from my past." But Dr. Jones was shaking his head.

"No, I don't think so. You were perfectly healthy before the cancer, Sam. Maybe if you had been sick or had some autoimmune disease that would have made a difference. You just drew the bad luck of the draw when it comes to genetics."

Except that Sam hadn't been healthy before the cancer took over. Not really.

_I've got demon blood inside me, Dean. I'm a whole new level of freak._

"Yeah," he muttered. "Thanks."

"What was that about?" Kat asked when he put an arm around her shoulder and led them out of the hospital.

"Nothing. Just a question about chemo I forgot to ask last time." He pressed his lips to the top of her head in a comforting gesture and she leaned into him.

"There's still next time," she said.

"There is," Sam agreed. When they got to the car, instead of searching for the keys, he took his wife by the hips and held her against the car door.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he bent his head to brush his lips against her neck.

"You know," he said, voice low in her ear. She shivered when his teeth skimmed the area below her jaw. "Dean doesn't expect us back for a whole hour."

"Mmm," she said, resting her hands over his. "True."

"And I didn't spend all that money on this nice  _roomy_  car to have it go to waste." He reached behind her, lips still caressing her skin and pulled open the door. She felt like a curfew skipping teenager, scrambling backwards into the car, tugging Sam after her. He grinned and shut the door, stooping low to take off his shirt. The cancer had ravaged his body, leaving ribs visible and stripping most of his muscle, but he was still her Sam, still the glorious man she had vowed her life to and he could look any way he wanted and she would love them. She managed to wriggle out of her shirt while lying on her back, their clothes thrown into the trunk.

She giggled as he lowered himself down again, pressing his lips against her stomach and creating a trail upwards. They did not do this nearly enough; especially not lately when both of them fell into bed exhausted each night.

"I can't believe we're doing this in a hospital parking lot," she breathed. Sam stopped his journey to her lips, staring at her with nothing less than fierce passion.

"I could love you anywhere," he said, the words coming from the deep of his throat and she felt a quiver run through her. His lips finally found hers and after that it wasn't important to remember where they were.

It was dark outside by the time they started driving home, Sam's hand on Kat's thigh, her fingers wrapped around his. So yeah, his cancer wasn't gone but the day hadn't turned out terrible, Sam thought, glancing at his wife, admiring the fullness of her lips and the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks when she blinked. She smiled back at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, watching the road. "You know, I was thinking back in the hospital that we, uh, we should not tell Dean what the doctor said." Kat's eyes widened and Sam even loved that small movement, how innocent it made her look.

"Why not?"

"Because he'll go crazy if he thinks I'm not getting better. He'll leave and go searching for some cure that doesn't exist and waste a whole bunch of time."

"He deserves to know," Kat argued. "He cares about you as much as I do."

"Dean can get a little…obsessive," Sam said. "I don't want to worry him. Not when there's not much to worry about."

"Well -," Kat started but he cut her off.

"Look, there's nothing we can do for a month and so there's no point in worrying for at least that long. That's how I want to approach this." Kat was frowning but she didn't try to disagree. "I'll tell him eventually," Sam said. "But first I just want to spend some time with my family. And I don't want to ruin that opportunity."

"Fine," Kat said, staring out the windshield. "You know him best. But if he comes asking for the truth, I'm not going to lie." Sam shook his head.

"He's not going to ask, I promise. He's going to believe what I tell him."


	13. Chapter 13

"You mean you're fine?" Dean asked. "That's what the doctor said?" The three adults were sitting at the kitchen table, a six-pack of beer already half empty in the middle of them.

"Yeah," Sam said and Kat wanted to kick him. "I mean, I have to go back for more chemo in about a month but he thought it was time to take a break." That part wasn't a lie. Sam knew a lie by omission was considered untruthful but he had weighed the outcome of telling Dean the truth and slightly altering it. Besides, Dean had lied to him plenty of times when he thought it was the right thing so Sam figured this was just payback. In a twisted sort of way.

"Wow," Dean said. "That's great, man. I can't believe it." He was shaking his head and grinning down at the table. "Looks like we all worried for nothing!"

"Well, he's not out of the woods yet." Kat couldn't help but break in. She wasn't just going to sit here and let Sam lie to his older brother like this. Didn't Dean deserve the truth? Didn't anyone?

"Yeah, but the doctor said there's nothing to worry about right now," Sam said, staring at her hard. She stared right back and this time she did kick his shin under the table.

"You've got another month," Dean said and Sam dropped his shoulders, relieved. That's how he wanted them all to act. Another month before anything got worse. Another month of not dying. Another month of life. Dean looked at Kat, taking a swig of beer. "Sometimes a month is all you need." Kat rolled her eyes. This wasn't hunting; this was science. She pushed herself away from the table, taking her empty beer bottle to the sink.

"It's been a long day," she said, coming to stand behind Sam's chair. She ran her hands over his hair; it slipped through her fingers like silk. He smelled like hospital and sex, an odd combination. "I'm going to bed."

"Night," Dean said and Sam gave her a kiss before promising to come to bed soon. She all but sashayed out of the room, hips swinging for Sam's benefit and he grinned at the memory of that afternoon before turning back to Dean, who hadn't been paying attention to either one of them. He was too busy cracking open a third beer. Sam reached for his second. He wasn't allowed alcohol during chemo and it was nice to be able to do something he enjoyed for once.

It'd been too long since he'd had a drink with his brother. They used to do it daily. Stop on the side of the road and dig a couple cold ones out of John's old cooler Dean had inherited. Dean used to head out after booking a motel room and come back with a couple paper bags tucked under his arm, the glow in his eyes bright. The best nights were when they would take the Impala into a random town and sit at the bar for hours, drinking and talking. Not even talking about Hunting, although that was the main source of their discussions. But sometimes Sam wanted to talk about other things and Dean indulged him with the quirk of a smile, a glass always halfway to his lips. Sam missed those nights.

"You doing okay?" Sam asked and Dean looked up.

"Sure, Sammy," he said with a lazy smile but Sam could tell he was tired. Not just tired but exhausted, like the rest of them were.

"You know, Kat and I would understand if you needed to take some time." To his credit, his brother looked surprised.

"Time for what?" Sam shrugged, throwing back another swallow of beer.

"If you needed to get away for a while; you've been running around like crazy the past couple months and trust me, you've been a huge help." Dean's eyebrows were drawn together and his smile faded.

"Are you asking me to leave? If you are, just tell me, don't try to make it my idea."

"No," Sam said. "You're welcome to stay. I just thought you might want to take a break from all this." He swept a hand around them, encompassing the house in his gesture. One of Dean's eyebrows cocked up.

"Where would I go?"

"I'm not asking you to leave," Sam reassured him. "But don't you have some kind of plan for when all of this is over?"

"You mean when you're done with chemo and one hundred percent healthy?" Sam nodded and Dean sighed.

"I don't know, Sam. I don't want to talk about until the time comes, okay?"

"But Dean -,"

"Sam." His brother's voice had turned low and dangerous, his face devoid of expression. "Let it go."

All Sam wanted to do was make sure that if anything happened to him – which it likely would – Dean would have a place in this world. He didn't want his older brother to be dependent on his survival. Dean had just spent three years alone but Sam could tell it had taken a toll on him in every sense of the word: physically, mentally, emotionally. He doubted Dean could go back to Hunting and survive it without Sam around it. But if Dean wasn't Hunting, what would his life be?

Sam had a month to figure out his brother's future.

* * *

Sam did seem to improve every day that he got further away from the chemotherapy. Dean watched him leave for walks in the morning when before he couldn't even make it up the three stairs to the master bedroom. He started eating again instead of pushing the food around his plate in disinterest. His laughter was just as infectious as Parker's when the two of them played together in the basement. All these were signs of life and they reminded Dean of Sam's urge to live, something that had saved both of them multiple times over the years.

Sam had grown placid and even more compassionate in his time away from the job but there was still a spark of dynamism about him that flared stronger in him as time went on. Sam was just so good at living, it left Dean wondering if he should have perhaps been more like Sam, more thankful to be on the planet, instead of leading a begrudging existence. But then Dean remembered that his baby brother still had cancer coursing through his body and the bitterness welled in him like venom.

Dean decided to do something for Sam, something he wouldn't see coming. He cornered Kat one day as she was vacuuming and Sam had Parker out for a short walk. In his grasp was the crinkled pamphlet from that first day in the hospital.

"What do you think?" he asked, holding it out to her. She took, read the cover and opened it. She spent a couple minutes looking through it but not as long as Dean thought she would.

"We've talked about this before," she said. "Sam and I. But it was never the right time." There was a twinkle in her blue eyes and Dean knew she was onboard. She wanted to do something special for Sam as much as Dean did.

"This week," Dean said. "I'll take Parker with me and it can be a surprise."

"Okay," Kat said, touched at Dean's thoughtfulness although she should have known he would try something like this. In any case, she could use some excitement in her life, some good excitement instead of the depressing kind. "But only if you can find the right one," she warned. "We still need to take this seriously."

"I've been researching," Dean admitted. "Lots of practice at it. I think I know what I'm doing." She nodded and smiled, humming under her breath as she turned the vacuum back on. Kat loved secrets. And this was such a good one.

* * *

"Alright, little man," Dean said, unbuckling Parker out of his car seat and putting him on his hip. "We're going to get Daddy a present." It was a few days after his talk with Kat and all the preparations were done although hiding things from his observant brother hadn't been as easy as he thought. Dean had tried to sneak in the back door with bags full of supplies.

"Where were you?" Sam wanted to know, coming out of the living room.

"I thought you were out," Dean said.

"Nope." They both stood there, Dean awkwardly hiding the bags behind his bag, a shit-eating grin on his face while Sam raised his eyebrows.

"You're hiding something." The bags rustled as Dean shifted.

"Obviously. Now go away, Sammy." Sam wouldn't have let it go except that Kat called him into the other room and Dean went to go hide the stuff in his bedroom closet.

Now, after getting Parker settled, Dean locked the SUV and headed into the building. Parker wrinkled his nose as they entered the doors.

"It smelly," the child said, looking at his uncle as if wondering why on Earth there were in this place.

"Yeah, I know, it's gross," Dean said. "Hopefully, we'll be out of here soon."

"Can I help you?" There was an older woman working the front desk, her gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, suspicious looking stains on her shirt.

"Uh, yeah. We came to adopt a dog," Dean said. The woman turned from business professional to grandmotherly in two seconds flat.

"That's wonderful! My name is Bev. I can show you around."

"Awesome," Dean muttered, taking a last look at outside before heading through a door behind the counter. The noise beyond was deafening; Parker immediately clapped both hands to his ears and Dean would have if he hadn't been holding the toddler. On both sides of them were pens of dogs and almost every animal was at the front of it's cage, nose pressed to the chain-link, barking. Dean tried to get a good look at some of them but all he saw were white, flashing teeth. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Sorry!" Bev shouted, glancing back. "They're not used to strangers." She led them through the maze of dogs and into another room that thankfully killed most of the sound. Dean took Parker's hands away from his ears.

"Don't worry," he said. "It's safe now."

"Sorry," Bev said again, giving Parker a sympathetic glance. He turned his face into Dean's shoulder. "Why don't you tell me what kind of dog you're looking for? What size? Do you have a certain breed in mind? An age range?

"Uh…"

Dean had thought he would have just walked into the shelter, picked out a friendly looking dog and headed back home, all in less than half an hour. He wasn't expecting an interview.

"Well, obviously we need one that's good with kids," he said, gesturing to Parker who had come out of hiding but still had both arms around Dean's neck. "And, um, one that's nice?" The lady's smile wavered as she took in his discomfort and hesitation.

"Alright. Good with kids, of course. What about age? Were you looking for a puppy?"

"No!" Dean said quickly. "Definitely an older, more laid back dog."

"What size?"

"Bigger," Dean said. He refused to bring back one of those foo-foo dogs that resembled more of a cotton ball than a canine. "The dog is for my brother," he confessed. "And my brother is…slower at the moment. Has a harder time moving around. I wanted to get him some company." Bev frowned, looking Dean up and down.

"Will your brother be able to look after the dog properly?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean said. "I live with him and his wife. This is their son," he said, shifting Parker to his other side.

"Doggie," Parker informed Bev. "For Daddy."

"I think I might have just the dog for you," Bev said to Parker and then looked at Dean. "Let me go bring them in." She left the room and Dean took the opportunity to look around. It wasn't a large space, about the size of the living room. Dog toys littered the floor and a bag of treats sat on a folding table.

"Down," Parker demanded. Dean glanced around the room again; it seemed too dirty to set a child down in.

"In a minute," he said. "Let's meet this dog first."

"Doggie! Woof-woof!" Parker said just to show his uncle how smart he was.

"That's right. We're getting Daddy a doggie." Bev came back a minute later. In her left hand she a plastic bag full of what looked like hamburger meat and in the right, a brown nylon leash that was connected to the collar of a dog. It was a large dog, a shepherd, tan with a black saddle splashed across its back and curled around its chest. It's nose and the tip of its ears looked like they'd been dipped in ink. It wagged its tail when it saw Dean and Parker waiting.

"This is Bullet," Bev told them, stopping a few feet away. She gave the dog some sort of hand signal and it eased back onto its haunches but still stared at the Winchesters, tongue hanging out the side of its mouth.

"Doggie!" Parker trilled, pointing at the dog and then looking excitedly at Dean as if Dean didn't see the huge animal sitting right in front of them.

"She's about five years old so all the puppyness is pretty much gone. She's a very calm dog," Bev told Dean.

"You named a girl dog Bullet?" he asked before he could stop himself. It was rather ironic, he thought. Like the dog being named salt or holy water.

"We didn't name her. She was brought in about six months ago, the product of a divorce. But before that, she lived in a loving home and the owners said she was good with their children who were quite young. It is an odd name but I'm afraid it's too late to change it."

This animal seemed far too large to be considered safe around Parker. The kid was a peanut compared to the dog.

"Would you like to meet her?" Bev asked.

"Uh, sure," Dean said. Still holding Parker, he crouched down, turning so that most of his body blocked Parker from Bullet. With a signal from Bev, Bullet stood and walked over to Dean, sniffing curiously at his outstretched hand.

"Hey, girl," he said, moving his hand up the side of her face to scratch her ears. She leaned into his touch, nails scratching against the tile floor as she crept closer to him.

"Here," Bev said, holding out the plastic bag of food. "I guarantee that if you feed her, she'll never leave you side."

"Great," he mumbled but held out a piece of beef for the dog. She sniffed it and then looked at him, as if checking to make sure he really wanted her to have it. He sort of nodded, feeling absurd, but she took it delicately off his fingers, using her tongue to scoop it up. He never even felt her teeth.

"Nice doggie," Parker said, reaching under Dean's elbow to stick a hand in Bullet's face. Before Dean could stop her, she pushed her nose forward and licked Parker's fingers. A delighted look come into the dog's eyes and she continued licking, no doubt cleaning up whatever residue was left behind from the toddler's lunch. Parker squealed but didn't pull his hand away. He looked just as thrilled as the dog.

"Woof-woof, 'ean," he said.

"Looks like a good match," Bev said. "We've had no problem with her. She's polite to all the other dogs and she just loves the staff. She's a real sweetheart."

"Great," said Dean, leaving out the sarcasm this time. He set Parker down on the floor and let the boy toddle a couple steps closer as long as he didn't go out of arm's reach. Bullet sat down and didn't move a muscle as Parker grabbed at her. If anything, Dean swore the dog looked amused.

"Do you want to think about it?" Bev said. Dean glanced up.

"Think about it? Uh, no. Can't I just take her now?" He really didn't want to come back to this place. Bev look surprised but then smiled.

"Sure. Most people aren't so confident. They want to meet the animal a couple times."

"I mean, she looks fine," Dean said. "She's not sick or hurt, is she?"

"Nope, Bullet is completely healthy."

"Awesome. What do we have to do?"

"There's a fifty dollar fee and we'll get you started with some of the essentials. She has a bed and some toys. We'll give you a bag of food and her leash. But you'll have to go out and buy the rest of her things."

"Sounds good. And we already have all that stuff," Dean said, thinking of the bags hidden in his room along with the dog bed sitting in the back of the Impala. She handed him the end of the leash and he scooped up Parker before taking it.

"Daddy's doggie," the child said, pointing to Bullet who looked up at Dean.

"Yep. Let's take Daddy's doggie home."

Bullet rode in the back of the car, sticking her head over the partition every so often to lick Parker's hand. Dean had the channel turned the metal rock station; he had to admit he was getting used to driving this car. The Impala was sitting in the garage, covered with a tarp. It didn't make sense to keep driving it around town and it was the fastest way anyone was going to recognize him as Dean Winchester. He still slept with a gun under one pillow and a knife under the other but he was beginning to relax. At two minutes out, he called Kat to let her know they were around the corner and she promised to wake up Sam, who was taking a nap.

"Remember Parker," Dean said, pulling into the driveway. "The doggie is a surprise." Parker nodded solemnly. "Can you say surprise?"

"Spise." Dean nodded.

"Pretty good." He unbuckled the boy and lifted him out of the car seat. "Stay," he told Bullet and though she cocked her head at him as he shut the door, she didn't move. Dean set Parker down just inside the front door.

"Go find Daddy," he said, setting down the dog's stuff from the shelter by all the shoes in the walkway.

"Daddy!" Parker called obediently. "Daddy!"

"Right here, buddy," Sam said from the living room. He was sitting on the couch, blinking sleep from his eyes. Parker got down on his hands and knees to get down the step into the next room and then ran to his father.

"Spise, Daddy!"

"What?"

"Spise!" Dean chuckled and went back outside, opening the trunk and allowing Bullet to hop out. He let her sniff around the bushes and inspect the outside of the house.

"This is your new home," Dean said sternly. "No running away." He bent down and grabbed the dog's face in his hands. "Listen up," he said, hoping no one would drive by and see him talking face to face with a dog. "That's my brother in there and he's real sick. It's your job to make him feel better, okay?" Bullet's warm brown eyes blinked and her tongue curled to lick Dean's thumb. "You belong to him." He let go and stood. "Alright, let's go."

"A surprise?" Sam was saying when he opened the front door again. Kat stood at the edge of the living room. "Did Uncle Dean help you with this surprise?"

"Yes," Parker said.

"Ready?" Dean called.

"I guess," Sam said. "You better not have done anything stupid."

"I'm offended," Dean said, rounding the corner, Bullet at his side. The minute he did, he wished he had a camera. Parker was standing by Sam's knees and he giggled when they came into view. Whatever comeback Sam had ready died on his lips as his eyes went wide. His gaze swept from the dog to Kat to Dean back to the dog again.

"What is going on?" he said. "Did you hit the dog with the car or something? Is it okay?" Dean sighed.

"Sammy, you're ruining the moment. The dog's fine. I didn't hit it. I adopted it."

"You did what?"

"Well, I adopted it for you. It's a she. And she's going to keep you company." He led Bullet over to Sam and dropped the leash into Sam's lap. Kat moved forward and picked up Parker. Sam appeared mesmerized. He held out a hand and Bullet looked up at Dean before moving.

"Go ahead," he told her. "That's Sam." She placed her long muzzle into Sam's outstretched hand and blew out a breath. It sounded like a sigh.

"Dean, you don't even like dogs." Dean shrugged.

"But you like them. And we thought she might be helpful. I was reading about some crap about animal therapy at the hospital a few weeks ago and I remembered how much you loved dogs. So…" he gestured at Bullet whose tail was now waving frantically as she pressed her chest against Sam's knees. He scratched her ears, which only made her tag wag harder. They were obviously going to get along fine together.

"You were in on this?" he asked Kat.

"Of course," she said. "I had dogs growing up and now that Parker's old enough, I figured it was time to invite one more into the house." She gave Dean a wry smile. "We seem to be rather adept at accruing misfits." Dean smirked.

"Hey, girl," Sam said. "You're very pretty, aren't you?" Bullet seemed to grin at the compliment.

"The lady at the shelter said she's about five or six. She's slowed down enough to be a good companion for you. You can take her on those walks of yours. Her name is Bullet."

"Bullet?" Sam said, smiling a real smile up at Dean. The kind of smile that made everything worth it.

"I know," said Dean. "But I didn't pick it. She came that way."

"It fits," Sam said. "Of course we would have a dog named Bullet."

"Anyway, I'm not getting up in the middle of the night to take her out or anything," Dean said, taking a step back. "No way." Sam rolled his eyes but he was still smiling, his eyes on the dog.

"No one would ask you to do that," he replied. "Hey, pretty girl," he crooned. "We should thank Dean for getting you of that shelter, shouldn't we?" He glanced up and noticed Kat had left the room, taking Parker with her.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said. "I can't believe you did this."

"Anything for you, Sammy." He said it in a joking tone but he meant it. It seemed as if the dog was already helping Sam. The lingering paleness had receded from his skin and his eyes were bright with happiness. He would have given Sam a dog a long time ago if he knew this was going to be the result.


	14. Chapter 14

After a few days of adjusting, it was as if Bullet had always been part of the family. She attached herself to Sam right away, following him around the house, her nose bobbing at his knee. Sam set up her food and water bowl next to the sliding glass door that led out onto the porch but she refused to eat when he wasn't in the same room. If he happened to leave the room while she had her head buried, she would pause mid-chew and trot over to him as if to say,  _where are we going now?_

Besides getting used to the new addition, Sam and Kat were trying to put together a birthday party for Parker, who turned two at the end of August. They hadn't sent out invitations or planned anything earlier because of Sam's sickness but now that he was feeling good, they thought they should have at least throw a little party.

"We could do it at that amusement park," Kat suggested one night as the two of them were sitting together at the table, sipping on wine. Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Those places are like breeding grounds for trailer trash," he said. "Besides, he's two. What could he do there?"

"They have a kid's section," Kat said but she didn't sound enthusiastic about the idea. "I'm just trying to think of something."

"We could do a party here," Sam said. "Get one of those inflatable bouncy things for the backyard."

"He's two," Kat said, echoing her husband's words from a moment ago. "I'm not letting him in one of those. Besides, I don't want to do anything here. Too much stress." Sam shot her a look. Below the table, Bullet stretched and rested her nose on his foot.

"Stress for who?"

"Everyone," she said, staring at her wine glass.

"Kat," Sam said. "I'll be fine if we have a party here."

"I know," she said but her defensive tone said otherwise. Sam resisted the urge to sigh. Lately, his wife had been dropping hints about him being too stressed or wearing himself out when in fact, he was feeling better than he had in a long time. The exhaustion was easier to ignore and the achiness in his joints wasn't bad when he didn't think about it. He counted those as positive signs.

"I have an idea," he said, diverting the subject because he didn't like where it would end up if they kept talking about him. "Why don't we do it at the park? We'll keep it simple; grill up some hamburgers or chicken or whatever. The kids can play on the playground and in the sprinklers they have set up. How's that sound?" Kat thought about it for a minute, trying to find the flaws in the plan but then she gave a slow nod.

"You are too smart for me," she teased, reaching for his hand. He ran his thumb across her knuckles.

"I don't think so," he murmured. She wasn't wearing any makeup but her blue eyes were beautiful all the same, gazing at him with nothing less than adoration. He wished there was a way to tell her how much he loved her; he just wanted her to  _know_ , to be able to feel the aching in his chest when he looked at her, put his arms around her.

"The park it is," Kat said a moment later, sliding out of her chair without letting go of his hand. She entwined her fingers in his, tugging him toward the stairs and he stood, finishing the last of his wine before following the love of his life wherever she wanted to lead him.

* * *

Because Parker's birthday was on a Saturday, they decided would do the party on the same day. The toddler knew something was up because he'd been getting extra attention for the past week. Whenever someone asked him how old he was going to be, he would throw a hand up, all five fingers in the air and say,

"Two!"

"Well," Dean said laughing, "At least he has half of it right."

"He obviously takes after you when it comes to math," Sam shot back, trying to wriggle a shirt onto Parker, who wouldn't stop laughing because Dean was laughing.

"Sorry about that, kid," Dean said, making a face at Parker, who giggled harder.

"Dean, I'm trying to get him dressed," Sam complained. "Stop riling him up." Bullet whined from the toddler's doorway. She was quite the vocal dog, always whining and yelping when she wanted to get Sam's attention. Dean thought she did it just to annoy him sometimes.

"I'm not doing anything," he protested.

"Do you want to get him dressed?"

"Fine," and Sam looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. Dean shrugged, looking smug.

"Go away," Sam said, turning back to his son who was now trying to take off the shirt Sam had just put on. "Go help Kat pack the car."

Dean left the room to find Kat stressing in the kitchen, her hair thrown into a messy ponytail as she rushed around.

"Dean!" she said. "Good, I can use some help. Can you get all the meat out of the fridge and put it in this cooler and put it in the car? I've got to get the drinks from the garage. I hope we have enough ice; I didn't think it was supposed to get this hot day." Dean wanted to tell her to calm down but he knew from experience that would only make her tenser. So he did as he was told, throwing all the pre-made hamburgers and a couple packets of chicken breasts in the cooler by his feet. Sam had already told him he expected Dean to be in charge of grilling which Dean was fine with. It made him feel manly. A lot more manly than chasing after a two-year-old who wouldn't keep his shirt on. Sometimes he had to go out to the Impala and unlock the trunk for a few minutes just to feel like himself again. He liked living with Sam and Kat for the most part, but he also felt a little lost in the shuffle of suburban life. It was never going to suit him; not long term anyway.

"Are you done yet?" Kat asked, rushing back inside, pulling at her shirt in an attempt to fan herself.

"Yep," Dean said.

"Okay then that's the last of it. The drinks, the meat, the presents, Parker's diaper bag…" she ticked off each item with a finger. "Now we just need the birthday boy. Where are those two?"

"Bonding," Dean said with a smirk. Kat shot him a look and he hustled out of the house.

They made it to the park an hour before anyone else was supposed to arrive. Even though it had been last minute, a good amount of people had agreed to show up. From his station at the grill, Dean watched Sam take Parker to the playground.

If he hadn't lived with them for three months, he might never have pictured Sam as a dad Dean knew that his brother was loving and gentle enough for kids but Sam had always seemed a little too lost for fatherhood. Comparing the Sam who had sat doubting himself in the passenger seat of the Impala to the one who was helping his child climb stairs to the slide was freaking Dean out. So much had changed and in reality, it hadn't taken long. Just three years for Sam's world to turn in a new direction. Dean sort of envied that. Despite what Sam said about loving Parker once he was born, the elder Winchester didn't think he would ever be capable of that kind of deep affection. There was only one person he would give up his life for and it was the thirty-three-year old man across the park.

But Dean didn't see Sam as an adult, not really. No matter how old they got, how messy – or unmessy – their lives became, part of Dean would always see Sam as the six month old he had carried out of the burning house. He would see him as the four year old who wouldn't stop asking where Daddy was. To Dean he would always be eight years old and too innocent for his own good. Maybe that's why Dean couldn't let go of his old life. At least back then he knew what he was meant to do: protect Sam at all costs. Now Sam didn't need protection, at least not the kind Dean could give him. He was safe and happy and maybe not all the way healthy but if what he said was true, then he was getting there. Soon he wouldn't need Dean at all.

"Hey Dean." Kat's voice broke him out of his thoughts. At her side were a good-looking couple and at their feet was a girl about Parker's age. "I want to introduce you to our friends…"

* * *

An hour later, Dean was sweating more than the summer he and Sam had hunted a shape shifter in Texas. The bloody thing had been hiding out in people's attics and Dean had almost passed out crawling through the air ducts.

Still, standing over a hot grill with no relief was better than having to converse the crowd of people milling around the two picnic table they had pushed together. There were children running around all over the place, screaming and squealing and crying. It was the only time since he brought her home that Bullet stayed close to him, sitting a few feet away from the grill. It probably had something to do with the pounds of raw meat he was going through. Sam caught his eye from over the crowd where he was talking to a guy around their age with a stomach that looked like he had a couple basketballs tucked under his shirt. Dean shook his head and went back to flipping the burgers, his beer growing warm in his grasp. He downed it and reached for another, keeping his hand in the ice longer than necessary to counteract the sweat that was trickling down his back. A group of moms – including Kat – were huddled close the sprinklers that were built into a concrete slab on one side of the playground as several children of various ages raced through them. The youngest were racing back and forth stark naked while others were in diapers and a few of the older ones wore actual bathing suits. Maybe when everyone else was eating, Dean could strip to his jeans and duck into the sprinklers, at least to wash all the sweat off his body.

"Lunchtime everyone!" Kat called about ten minutes later when the foil container she had left out was mostly filled by Dean's hand. The parents rounded up the little ones, sitting them at the picnic table, leaning over tiny shoulders to cut up the burgers and the chicken. Containers of fruit were passed around and drinks were poured into those Dixie cups Dean remembered from his childhood. Sam sat with Parker on one end of the picnic table, the toddler nestled in his father's lap so he could reach his plate. Dean watched as a splatter of ketchup ended up on Sam's shirt as Parker's burger fell from his fork. Parker laughed and Sam smiled as he grabbed a napkin.

"You're Dean, right?" One of the moms – one of those here without a husband – was standing next to Dean, a beer in one hand, a dripping juice box in the other.

"Yeah," he said. He showed her his messy hands as an apology for not shaking and she waved him away. She followed his gaze to Sam and then looked back at Dean.

"Kat told me Sam's brother was staying with them." She was cute enough with straight blonde hair and nice teeth that flashed when she gave him a genuine smile.

"That's me," Dean said, turning a piece of chicken and stepping away from the grill to wipe his brow.

"I'm really sorry to hear about Sam. It must be hard watching your brother go through that." Dean looked at her sharply, really seeing her for the first time. Behind the pleasant face and nice body was pure sympathy, one of things Dean loathed most in the world.

"He'll be fine," Dean said, dismissing her. She didn't get the hint.

"I don't know what Kat is going to do if anything happens…" she trailed off when Dean snapped to his eyes to hers.

"Sam's getting better," Dean said firmly. The woman pursed her lips, her dark eyes narrowed.

"That's not what Kat said." The gossipy undertone was lost on Dean as he stared at Sam, who was cutting up a wedge of watermelon and then to Kat who was standing near her husband and son talking to another woman.

"What are you talking about?" Her eyes widened but it was a false move; she wasn't surprised at all.

"The last round of chemo didn't work, at least that's what Kat told me last week. She's so devastated. But you know that."

"Of course," Dean said after a minute, taking the last of the burgers off the grill. "Thanks for your concern," he said, giving her a short nod before leaving her standing by herself.

What had that woman been talking about? Sam had told Dean himself that the chemo was working and they were just taking a break. The cancer was gone…or on it's way to being gone. And Dean had been watching his brother with such a close eye he would have noticed if something was wrong. Sam was going on longer walks, staying up later, eating full meals. He was doing everything a healthy person would.

"Dean, what's up?"

Somehow, Dean had made his way over to Sam and Parker.

"It's my birfday!" Parker informed his uncle, mouth full of food. Some of it dribbled onto his lap and he picked it up carefully between two fingers and stuffed it back in. Sam pushed Bullet away when she tried to lick the child's hands and she sat obediently, keeping a close eye on the messy toddler.

"Can I talk to you?" Dean said. This was all a mistake. He just had to clear things up and then he could get back to worrying about normal things and not his brother's life.

"Uh, sure," Sam said. He searched the crowd for his wife, waving her over. "Can you take him for a second? Dean and I are going to get some food."

"Sure," Kat said. She didn't even glance at Dean who had started walking away from the party, toward the tree line on the other side of the soccer fields. Bullet followed the two of them, trotting a few paces ahead of Dean to weave in and out of the first row of trees. Both men ignored her.

"Where are we going?" Sam said, jogging slightly to reach his brother. Dean didn't answer, just kept walking. He was striding with purpose, arms stiff at his sides, staring straight ahead with a dangerous look in his eyes. Sam was beginning to think something was wrong. "Dean seriously, what's up?" Dean whirled around, his face a storm.

"Why didn't you tell me the cancer isn't gone?" The good-natured smile stayed on Sam's face a second too long.

"What?" he said.

"Don't lie to me, Sammy," Dean said, crossing his arms. "What's going on?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean let out a huff, pacing a couple steps back and forth in front of his brother.

"Some woman over there," he jabbed the air aggressively, "told me that Kat said the cancer isn't gone. Is that true?" Sam knew he couldn't lie again; he couldn't look into Dean's pleading eyes and tell him it wasn't true.

"Kind of," he started and Dean threw his hands up in the air, striding away again before coming back. "Listen, Dean, I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry." Dean let out a laugh that sounded as if he was being strangled.

"You didn't want me to  _worry?_  Are you kidding? I'm your goddamn brother, Sam. I thought that meant something. I thought that meant we don't lie to each other. I can't believe you."

"You would have gone crazy," Sam argued, straightening his own spine so that he was a good three inches above Dean. "I wanted to spend some time with you without you thinking I was going to collapse to my death every five minutes."

"Great. I'm really glad that you put your life at risk so that I could be happy," Dean said, sarcasm flowing into his words. "How stupid are you?" Sam didn't say anything, just looked away. "So what's the deal?" Dean said after a moment of silence. His words sounded broken, fractured by emotion. "Is it bad?"

Sam shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

"Not that bad." Dean's voice was weary.

"Time to stop lying, Sammy," he said. "Just tell me."

"My reactions to the chemo were so bad, we had to take a break. It wasn't getting rid of the cancer, just slowing it." Dean's eyes closed as if pain and when he opened them again, Sam saw real anguish.

"So you just gave up?"

"No. I did what my doctor suggested. I'm starting chemo again next week."

"But it might not work."

Sam's silence was the answer and Dean cursed loudly, causing Bullet to look up from the tree she had been investigating. She watched the brothers with a cocked head but when she realized Sam wasn't in any danger, she returned to sniffing.

"Great. This is just great, Sam."

"I'm sorry."

"You lied to me. Again. After all we've been through; I can't believe you would just lie to me."

"I did it for your own good." That didn't make Dean feel better at all; in fact, it made him feel worse. Sam was trying to protect Dean when it was supposed to be the other way around. Dean was quiet for a few minutes and just when Sam thought he wasn't ever going to speak to him again, Dean said,

"Well, I can't stay mad. Not now when I'm going to be holding your hair while you puke next week." The half-smile he gave Sam was weak and quivering but he was trying. Trying to get past the fact that the last month of his life had been a lie. He could be mad at Sam later. But for right now, he had to save his brother's life. Again.


	15. Chapter 15

The household had less than a week after Parker's birthday party before Sam went back to the hospital. The house itself was strewn with new toys as Parker insisted that he was having his birthday again soon.

"It my birfday!" he told Dean every morning to which Kat would explain that his birthday only came once a year and it would be a long time before it happened again.

"Next time you'll be three, not two," she said one morning, handing both Dean and the toddler a bowl of oatmeal.

"Fwee."

"Yep. One. Two. Three." He turned his wide green eyes to Dean who was still half-asleep.

"Is 'ean fwee?"

"No, Dean is…how old are you?" Dean mumbled into his oatmeal.

"He's fwee," Parker confirmed.

"Dean is in his thirties," Kat said although the child was no longer listening. He was biting his lip in concentration as his spoon dipped into the oatmeal before heading to his mouth. Even so, half of the contents on the spoon slid over the edge and onto the table.

"Let's not advertise my age," Dean grumbled. "You wouldn't want me to go around telling Parker your real age would you?" She gave him a sly smile.

"Everyone knows I'm only twenty-nine, Dean." He snorted and buried his head back into his food.

"Where Daddy?"

"He's getting dressed," Kat said. "He has to go to the doctors today."

"Not me," Parker said, whipping his head back and forth and getting oatmeal in his hair in the process.

"Not you," Kat agreed. "Uncle Dean is going to stay with you today." Parker quickly snapped his head around to look at his uncle.

"'Pala?" Parker asked his uncle and Kat shot an exasperated glance at Dean.

"You know, he's never going to stop asking to go back in that car," she said. "You shouldn't have done that."

For his birthday, Dean had let Parker sit in the front seat of the Impala on Dean's lap and turn the steering wheel. Even though they had stayed in the driveway, the child had been thrilled and was constantly asking to go back in the 'Pala.

"I can't help it if he appreciates nice cars," Dean said, shrugging.

"Well if you have to take him anywhere today, make sure he's in a car seat. In my car. Which has airbags." Dean rolled his eyes. Kat didn't trust his car which was an insult to Dean's heart but he nodded anyway.

Sam chose that moment to make an appearance.

"Almost ready to go?" he asked Kat, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Dean looked on in mild disgust. It was as if he was getting ready to go on a Hunt and not to some torture institution.

"Just a minute," Kat called from the kitchen. Dean had mostly forgiven his brother from lying and he was trying to get the rest of the way there but every time he saw Sam, he was reminded of the lie, especially now.

"Daddy, 'ean is fwee," Parker told his father. "Is you fwee?"

"We're learning to count," Dean said. "So far today, everyone is three. Except Kat who is twenty-nine."

"This will blow your mind then," Sam told his son. "I'm thirty-three. Double threes."

"Firty-fwee?"

"Yep." Parker gave his father a suspicious look before dipping a whole hand into his oatmeal and slurping it from his fingers.

"Parker Dean!" Kat said, coming around the corner to find Parker's tongue glued to his palm. He turned his head and gave his mother a wicked smile. "We don't use our hands to eat." She placed the sticky, oatmeal-covered spoon back in his hand. "Big boys use spoons."

"I two," he reminded her. "Not fwee."

"You're still a big boy," she said, wiping her own hands. "Dean, you might have to give him a quick bath. I think there's oatmeal down his shirt."

"Yes, ma'am. You kids have fun now," he said as they headed for the door. The two of them shared a look as if they had taken Dean's jesting to heart but he didn't notice because he was busy trying to keep Parker from dumping the bowl of oatmeal on the floor. Who gives a two-year-old oatmeal anyway?

* * *

This round of chemo was worse. Sam didn't know if it was the slight change in drugs or if it was the cancer fighting back or if it was just his worn out body that couldn't handle the medicine but it hit him faster than the previous times. He spent most of the day in the bathroom and the rest of it curled up in bed, underneath a mass of blankets.

"Sam, you should try and eat something," Kat would say and he would blink up at her then shake his head. He just wanted to go to sleep. It was as if the last month, that blissfully happy month, no longer existed in his memory. All he could focus on now was the nausea and the pain and the pure exhaustion that left him too weak to make it any farther than across the bedroom. Dean seemed to have gotten over Sam's lie and for that he was grateful; he didn't think he would have gotten through this round if Dean hadn't been by his side. Part of him wanted to feel annoyed that Dean was hovering but it made Sam more comfortable and the few attempts to tell Dean to leave him alone were feeble and untruthful.

"Déjà vu," Dean joked, handing Sam a new bottle of mouthwash and then a wet washcloth to wipe his face with.

"Ha," Sam said without humor. He turned his head to puke again but by now it was only bile coming up, coating his throat and making it sore at the same time. Once he was done, he let his forehead rest on the edge of the toilet, waiting to get his breath back.

Dean crouched down and reached out for his brother's shoulders. His strong fingers massaged Sam's aching muscles.

"You're gonna be okay," Dean said but Sam didn't even have the strength to lift up his head. He just let Dean keep digging into his shoulders and neck, let him keep murmuring nonsense that neither one of them truly believed.

If things were tense between the adults in the house after the first round of chemo then it doubled after the second round. Kat had become pushier and more vocal about how Sam should be behaving. She thought he was acting as if he had already given up while he tried in vain to explain he was just so freaking tired all the time and he hadn't given up at all. Kat felt sorry for saying these things but she was just so scared that she was losing her husband. She knew he was slipping out of her grasp and it scared her that there was nothing she could do just how the same fact made Dean furious.

The suggestions and the prodding turned into strained discussions that turned into arguments behind closed doors. It was a few days after Sam's second dose of chemo and he'd regained enough energy to raise his voice. Dean was sitting in the living room watching TV when the newest fight broke out.

"If you want to have your beliefs, Kat, fine! But we've been over this. I want no part in it." This was the first time Dean had heard Sam yell at his wife since he'd been here.

"I think talking to a priest would be a good idea. It could give you peace of mind."

"No!" Sam roared and Dean stood, muting the TV. He could hear the tremor in Kat's voice.

"Sam, calm down. Don't exert yourself." It was the wrong thing to say and Dean cringed inwardly as Sam retaliated.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do! Exert myself by yelling, Kat? Is that what its come down to? I'm so sick of hearing people tell me what to do with my own body. I'm the one dying, not you, not anyone else. I can yell if I fucking feel like it!" There was a pause and from his spot in the hallway, Dean could hear whimpering from Parker's room. Then Sam and Kat's bedroom door flew open and she came running out, face red and streaked with tears. Sam didn't follow her. She stopped when she saw Dean watching her but then rushed into Parker's room and Dean heard the distinct click of the lock and then loud sobs. He wondered for a moment if he should interfere but then he figured there was nothing he could do with a locked door short of breaking it down. He went to check on Sam.

His baby brother was leaning over his dresser, palms flat on the top, shoulders hunched. His long hair swept forward and hid his bowed face.

"Sammy?" When Sam looked at him, Dean could see the fear and anger written as plainly as words on his brother's face. "Let's go for a drive." Sam cocked his head; the deep shadows under his eyes looked more like bruises. "Come on," Dean said and when Sam inevitably took a step toward his brother and stumbled, Dean was there to catch his arm. "Easy big guy," Dean said, trying not to let his own fear show. "One step at a time." Sam seemed to sag against Dean for a moment then, gathering his resolve, he pushed himself upright and headed for the front door. Dean stopped to grab their jackets and leave a quick note for Kat then slid into the driver's seat of the Impala, where Sam was already waiting. Dean backed out the garage and pulled out of the street and onto the main road out of town. He had to get Sam out of there.

"You okay?" he asked after a while. Sam had been staring out the window, fingers folded into knots in his lap.

"No, Dean, I'm not okay. I can't take this anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"About  _this!"_ he said, gesturing at his long body emphatically. "I can't stand the fact that sometimes my fingers go numb and that I can't feel my legs half the time. I'm tired of being exhausted as soon as I wake up and taking longer naps than my toddler. I'm tired of being broken."

"You're not broken, Sammy."

"Shut up, Dean. Yes, I am. First it was the demon blood and then it was Lucifer inside my head and then the trials and now it's this stupid disease. I don't even know what it feels like to be normal." Dean was silent but he gripped the Impala's steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He kept driving in a straight line, letting his headlights and the moon guide his way down the dark road.

"I envy you," Sam continued and Dean looked at him sharply before turning his eyes back on the road. Who in their right mind would envy Dean? Dean who lived alone. Dean who destroyed any chance of relationship within the first day of knowing someone. Dean who had started the apocalypse and had to have his little brother sacrifice his soul to clean up the mess.

"You're insane," he said but Sam was shaking his head, not listening.

"You've always played your role so well. Fierce, protective older brother. I'm the one who messes up. The legacy I'm leaving behind? I'm just a half-ass hunter who let the devil out of his cage."

"Sammy, stop," Dean said, worried about where this was going. They were about a half hour out of town and already a sign for a motel flashed by. Dean pulled in and parked the Impala. Sam kept talking.

"But you know what upsets me the most? When I was little, I worshipped you and Dad. Even during that time when what I thought we did was wrong, all those years I stayed away from hunting, I was still proud. I looked up to my father." He finally looked at Dean, his eyes red rimmed and angry. "My son will never have that. He won't remember me and there will be nothing good to tell him. I will never be anything to him except some guy in a picture." Sam looked away again and Dean took the opportunity to get out of the car. Once out, he bent to stick his head back in.

"You can come inside if you want or you can stay in the car and I'll be right back. But if you do anything stupid right now, Sam Winchester, I will personally walk down to hell and beat the crap out of you." Then he turned and walked away. There was no noise following him and he walked into the office of the motel by himself. The place was dingy at best with dim lighting and filthy carpet. But it felt like home.

"One room with two beds," he told the pimply teenage and then paid in cash. He walked back out holding the key.

"Get out," Dean said, opening Sam's door. His brother stared at him as if he'd gone crazy. He glanced around the mostly empty parking lot. Only one other car was there – a beat up pickup at the other end of the motel. The room it sat guarding was dark.

"What are we doing?"

"We're taking a time out. Get out of the car, Sammy."

"I'm not staying here." Dean didn't say anything, just tapped his fingers impatiently on the roof. Sam sighed and slowly got out of the car. Dean had to resist the urge to reach out when his brother tripped but they made it inside the motel room without any problems. The room was worse off than the front office. The wallpaper was peeling near the corners of the room and one of the chairs near the window tilted at an odd angle. The lights flickered before coming on but Dean walked in confidently as Sam followed. They each took a bed.

"Dean, what are we doing here?"

"Sit," Dean commanded, pointing to Sam's bed as he sat on his own, elbows on his knees as he studied his brother with a serious expression. "And listen."

" _You_ are not broken, Sam. Sure, your body is a little worse for wear right now but that's okay. It happens. I don't want to hear any more crap about you being a mess up because you're not. No," he said, holding up a hand as Sam opened his mouth to interrupt. "Let me finish. Saving people. Hunting things. It's what we do. What we've always done and I'll be damned if I let you go on thinking you haven't made an impact. You know want to know what I'm going to tell your son, Sam? I'm going to tell him that his father was a fucking hero. That he risked his life to save people he didn't even know. That he cared so much he was willing to put everything on the line to protect those around him. He's going to remember you, I promise."

There was silence for a long time as Sam stared at his older brother and Dean saw the anger start to fade. Sam buried his face in his hands. After a couple minutes, Dean couldn't take it. He stood up and walked over to the window, flipping the grimy curtains out of the way so he could look up at the sky. The stars seemed brighter tonight than usual, not something Dean usually noticed, but every now and then he liked to pretend he cared about such things. Things like the stars gave him hope. He didn't know why but they did. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Sam standing and staring at him, tears running quietly down his cheeks and he walked back over to the beds and stood before him.

"I'm scared, Dean," he said, almost whispered, but Dean heard him. He always heard.

"I know," Dean said and gathered Sam in his arms, resting his chin on his shoulder as he held him tight. "I'm scared too. But we're going to do this like we do everything else: together." It was what he had told Sam after the Trials.

"Now," Dean said a moment later as Sam pulled away, rubbing a hand over his face to get rid of the tears, "What do you say we get a little drunk?" Sam looked hesitant.

"Dean -,"

"Okay, okay," Dean said, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture, backing away. "A lot drunk." Sam gave a weak laugh and Dean knew he had him. He swiped the Impala's keys from the bedside table and headed out the door, looking over his shoulder before he left. "I'll be right back, Sammy. Just stay put."

While Dean was busy buying out the local liquor store, Sam called Kat to let her know he was okay.

"Dean and I got a room," he told her. "Do you mind if we spend the night?"

"Got a room?" she asked, voice muffled over the phone. "Are you really that mad at me, Sam?" Sam sighed and sat down on the bed.

"No, I'm not angry anymore. I'm sorry I yelled at you. You know I didn't mean anything I said."

"Yes you did," she said quietly. Parker babbled in the background.

"I'm frustrated," he said. "Not with you. Just with…everything."

"I know."

"But I think spending a night with Dean will help."

"Okay," she said but he heard the pause in her tone.

"You don't want me to?"

"No, it's fine," she said, drawing in a breath. "But I want you to come back."

"What? Kat, of course I'm coming back. Tomorrow morning. The afternoon at the latest." There was silence on other end and he would have wondered if she'd hung up if Parker hadn't chosen that moment to shriek into the phone.

"You're not running off with him? To go back to hunting?" Sam let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and shook his head at the thought.

"No. We're going to stay inside this crappy motel room and just hang out. That's it. Trust me Kat, Dean wouldn't let me hunt even if I begged him on my knees. He's annoying that way."

"But you don't want to hunt anymore." It wasn't a question but he answered anyway.

"It's the last thing I want. You and Parker, you're my life now. There is nothing in this world that could make me want to leave you. I'll be home tomorrow and we'll talk, okay?"

"Okay. Have fun with your brother."

"Thanks. I love you. Give Parker a kiss for me." He kept the phone in his hands even after she hung up, turning it over absentmindedly. The thought of going back to hunting was ridiculous. He had been telling the truth when he said it was the last thing he wanted. But part of him wondered how he would feel if he wasn't sick. Would he have ever lusted after his old job? What about five years down the road? Ten? What if Dean came pounding on his door, asking him to save the world one more time? What would Sam say?

As soon as he thought it, he knew the answer.

He'd say yes.

He would always say yes to Dean, always say yes when it came to balancing out the light and dark of the world. Sam could still feel the old energy of hunting lingering in his veins and he doubted it would ever leave. Maybe being sick was actually a blessing. Maybe it was God's way of letting him live out the rest of his days in peace, of making sure he didn't run out on his family.

"Some plan," he said, glancing at the ceiling. He'd been to church with Kat a few times over the last three years and though he'd taken to muttering to the sky when he was frustrated, he was far from a believer. He knew that when he died, Dean would salt and burn his bones and Sam's soul would go to hell. Back to hell.

"Sammy!" Dean said, kicking open the door. Both hands were hugging six packs and there was a paper bag tucked under one arm. "My man!" Sam stood up and helped Dean unload, cracking open a beer for himself.

"Did you talk to the wife?" Dean asked. "She okay with this?" He gestured around the room, bottle in hand.

"Yeah, she's fine." Dean beamed.

"That's my girl. Your girl," he corrected quickly. "Definitely all your girl."

* * *

It didn't take long for Sam to get drunk. Both of them were laying on their own bed, propped up by headboards and pillows, a six-pack on each nightstand. Sam's was close to empty while Dean was taking his time.

"Sometimes I just can't believe I'm not going to see Parker grow up," Sam was saying. He was at the point of the night where he just kept repeating himself and Dean took it with good nature, keeping quiet as Sam talked himself out.

"I want so badly to know who is going to turn into. You know, if he'll be a jock or a theater geek. If he'll move to Europe to be with his girlfriend or if he'll live on a farm in the next town over. Dean, I can stand dying. I – we've – known for a while that the chances of us getting old were slim. But now it's the not knowing that's killing me. It's not leaving, it's what I have to leave behind."

Dean fiddled with his drink, rubbing his thumb over the top of the bottle in a slow circle. It had grown warm from the heat of his skin. He took another swig.

"I never thought it would be you before me, Sammy." He felt Sam give him a disbelieving look even though he was looking straight ahead at the ugly-ass wallpaper.

"Really?" Sam said when Dean didn't go on.

"Of course," Dean said, his voice dismissive but raw. He took another sip of the beer, shook it to make sure it was empty, then reached for another. "This was never the way it was supposed to happen."

"How what was supposed to happen?" Dean sighed and let his head fall back to rest on the headboard.

"Life."

"You mean the spontaneous, let's-go-fight-a-new-monster-every-week Dean Winchester had a life plan?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I had a plan." And this was most certainly not the plan. The plan was for Dean to die – maybe die a hero – while Sam moved on to bigger and better things. Now Sam was dying and Dean had no place to go except back to Hunting. Everything had gone so incredibly wrong; it made him sick.

Both brothers were quiet for a time, quiet enough to hear the rain hitting the window on the far wall. The Impala was visible through a slit in the curtains, sitting outside the room like a faithful guard dog. Keeping watch. It was Dean who broke the silence, the roughness of his tone cutting through the stagnant air of the room.

"I know I was mad when you left for Stanford, and you know I was mad. But part of me was happy too." Sam cracked open another bottle.

"What?"

"Yeah. I thought, good for him, good for him for getting away from this all. There was never any hope for me but there was hope for you, Sammy."

"Dean what are you talking about?" Dean continued as if he hadn't heard Sam.

"But then I had to show up and ask you to come with me." Now Sam could see where this was going and he understood. Dean was blaming himself, had probably been blaming himself the minute he heard Sam was sick. And even though there was no possible way it was his brother's fault, Sam knew that the guilt had probably been eating away at Dean for weeks now.

"Dean this isn't your fault," Sam said swinging himself off the bed and pacing in front of Dean's bed before settling into one of the wooden chairs and stretching his arms out in front of him. His joints ached and lately he'd been feeling more uncomfortable in his own body than ever before. He could practically feel it wearing out on him.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said, waving the beer bottle toward his brother in what was meant to be a submissive gesture. "I can take it."

"These things just happen. All the time." Dean's head snapped up and his eyes flashed angrily at Sam. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, setting the beer bottle on the bedside table as he focused his gaze on Sam.

"No," he said, pointing to his brother. "This one was my fault. I dragged you back into hunting. I'm the one who made you stay. You got attached to Ruby while Iwas gone."

"You were  _in hell._ "

"And most of all, I never should have let you do those stupid trials. It should have been me. It always should have been me." Dean dropped his arm when he noticed his hand trembling and he picked up the drink again just to have something to hold on to. For the first time since he got drunk at age fifteen in the back of the high school parking lot did Dean's stomach heave as the bitter liquid washed down his throat. Christ, what had he done? He had failed the one thing he was meant to do in this life. He had killed his little brother. Little Sammy, who had always been so naïve and so trusting.

The thought almost brought him to his knees and he sank back on to the bed to prevent himself from hitting the floor. Sam watched helplessly knowing that anything he said at this point wouldn't be enough. He was watching his brother start to grieve his death. It was almost like having an out of body experience.

"I'm so sorry," Dean said, elbows on his knees as he held his head in his hands. He had started rocking slightly. "I'm so sorry." Sam pushed himself out of the chair and came to sit by Dean. He didn't put his arm around him or tell him it was going to be okay but he sat there in silence and when Dean finally looked up, his face was the ultimate expression of a man who had been beaten down one times too many. A flicker of doubt ran through Sam as wondered if it was possible for Dean to survive without him.

"I'm going to live," Sam said. "I won't leave you alone, Dean. I won't. Okay?" Dean stared at his brother for a moment wishing he could just somehow know where this was all going. But that wasn't the way life worked. You didn't know if you were going to live and die. You didn't know what day was going to be your last. They would always be Hunters in that respect.

"Okay, Sammy."

Sam smiled and reached across the bed, shoving something into Dean's lap.

"Here. Have some whiskey."

The brothers continued to drink and Sam continued to fall deeper into his own head. Thoughts popped to the front of his mind like a series of fireworks, each leaving a terrifying imprint.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was thick with inebriation, numerous bottles surrounded his bed lying right where he dropped them.

"What?" Dean rolled his eyes sideways to watch Sam who was back on his own bed and staring at the ceiling. His eyes were half closed, one hand curled around his last beer, the other resting loosely on his chest. Both hands were steady.

"How did you do it?" Dean took a sip of whiskey. The bottle was mostly full; he hadn't really been drinking, just pretending to. Sam was drinking enough for the two of them. Dean thought back to the nights when the two brothers would get drunk together, swaying into each other on the walk home, laughter bubbling from their lips in a way it couldn't when they were sober. Those times were over. Dean would probably never get drunk with Sam again.

"How did I do what?"

"Leave Lisa and Ben." Dean froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. Instead, his tongue darted out to wet his lips; they tasted bitter.

"Sam." Sam's eyes blinked closed and he sighed.

"Dean, I'm just asking. Don't get dramatic." The whiskey bottle hit the bedside table with a thud and Dean sat up.

"I don't want to talk about it." There was an edge to his voice. Whenever he thought about Lisa and Ben, about his family, it was a razor blade to his heart. He still loved them, hell, he would always love them. And he didn't want to talk about it.

"C'mon," Sam said, his voice blurring into a whine. "Just tell me."

"Shut up." Sam's eyes flew open.

"No." He rolled to his side and pushed himself up, beer slipping out of the bottle in his hand onto the carpet. He stared at the wet patch for a moment before carefully setting down the beer and lifting his gaze to Dean.

Sam's eyes were wild and glassy, skipping from Dean to the window to the opposite wall, as if unable to focus on one object. The pit in Dean's stomach grew.

"You're not being fair," Sam said stubbornly, jabbing one finger in Dean's direction. "You never tell me anything." They were the words of a five year old, not a grown man. Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam's words kept pouring forward. "You've lost a wife and child and now I'm going to lose a wife and child. As if losing mom and dad wasn't enough to have in common. As if hunting together wasn't enough." His tone was laced with betrayal and anger.

"Lisa wasn't my wife." Sam waved at the air, a dismissal.

"Might as well have been. Stop avoiding the actual conversation."

"Fine," Dean said, voice sharp. "You want to know how I did it? Because I had no choice. Because if I didn't let them go, they were going to get hurt. Or die. When you love someone that much, you'd do anything to keep them for suffering." He had Sam's attention now; his brother was watching with curiously, the surprise at Dean's openness barely contained. He continued, "And I don't want to talk about with you because it's not the same. I had a choice. You don't, Sammy." He paused to see if the harsh words would upset his brother but Sam's face stayed expressionless. "And I'm sorry you don't have a choice."

At the last sentence, Sam's shoulders slumped. His hands were folded in his lap, his body curved over itself.

"I want one," he whispered. "I want a choice. I want the choice not to leave." When he looked back up at Dean, his eyes had gone from glassy to wet. "If I had the choice, I would never leave." Dean took the dig for what it was.

"It was the only way to keep them safe," he said, saying out loud the words that had played inside his head ever since he left that hospital. "Despite what you're saying, you would do the same thing. I know you."

"You know me," Sam repeated dully, his gaze bouncing around the room again. "How can you know me when I don't even know myself?"

"Cut the philosophical crap, Sam. I'm not into that." Sam's eyes stayed fixed on some point over Dean's shoulder.

"You don't know -,"

"I know you better than anyone else. How? Because I've been with you every fucking step of the way. Should we start when I carried you out of a burning building when you were six months old? Or when you finally took your first steps – late – I was the one you came toward, not Dad. When you were six, some moron at the park hit you with a Frisbee and you had to get three stitches. Here," he said, reaching out to close the distance between them and brushing a spot on Sam's temple. "When you were fourteen, I bought you a bottle of tequila so you could go hang out with kids from school. You don't know this but I followed you to the party and made sure you were okay." Dean took a breath. "And when you were eighteen, Sam, I let you walk out the door even though it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I let you leave and I didn't follow you."

"Dean, I -," but Dean put a hand up to stop him.

"When I say I know you, I mean it. Sammy, I think I know you better than I know myself. So I'm pretty sure I know that if you had a choice, if you had any say in the matter, you would keep your family safe. Even if it meant leaving."

 _Because that's what this is about, isn't it?_ he almost said.

"You've done everything you can, Sammy," he said softly. "We both have." Sam nodded and Dean stood, clasping a hand to his brother's shoulder. "Are you ready to sleep?" Sam nodded again and Dean helped him lie down and get under the blankets, even bothering to take Sam's shoes off for him. His brother was asleep before he turned out the overhead light. Dean stared out the window again, watching the moon's reflection waver on the Impala's hood. How had he gotten here? It seemed so simple to spell out to Sam, so clear-cut, but when he really thought about it, when he took the effort to dig through the scramble of his mind, he wasn't sure. He was starting to wonder if everything had been worth it. Had Sam's life been worth it?

"Dean?" He turned, staring at the lump on the far bed. "Dean?"

"I'm right here," Dean said. There was silence for so long that he thought Sam must have fallen asleep again. Then he spoke again.

"I tried, right?" Dean felt his knees give slightly at his brother's distressed tone. When was this going to end?

"Yeah, Sam, you tried."

"And that's what matters."

"Yeah."

"Okay. I think I can be okay with that. If you say I tried." His voice was hushed; he was drifting.

"You tried, Sam." His brother only sighed, a faint sound and a second later he started snoring. He waited for a minute, making sure Sam wouldn't wake again, and then Dean Winchester bowed his head and cried.


	16. Chapter 16

Kat never said a word to Dean about the night he took Sam away. And all she did when they walked in the door the next morning was hug her husband tight and whisper in his ear.

"I'm glad you're home."

They both reeked of alcohol and Sam was nursing a hangover if she'd ever seen one but having him walk out last night had given her time to think. She knew she was being overbearing and acting more like a mother than a wife to her husband. That was not what he needed. He needed her full support and her love and the promise she was going to be by his side no matter what happened. They only had one more dose of chemo to go before they did more blood tests and everyone was holding their breath until then.

Dean was the one who took Sam to chemo the next day. Cynthia wasn't working; the nurse who hooked Sam up was a young male who looked like he hadn't even hit puberty yet. Still, Sam thanked him all the same and turned his attention to the TV hanging over their heads. Soon after, his eyes drifted close and Dean, out of habit, started talking. It didn't matter what about. When there weren't many people around, like today, he told stories of past Hunts. Some of them were ones that Sam and Dean had taken on together but mostly he told the ones that had happened in the years Sam was away at Stanford or on the occasions John had taken Dean with him and left Sam with Bobby or Pastor Jim.

Dean talked for a while before realizing that he hadn't seen Sam open his eyes in quite a bit. His brother was slouched in the chair, the IV still visible through the port in his chest. Dean sighed and crossed one leg over his other knee, letting his foot jiggle impatiently. He didn't care what the doctors said; this was torture. It felt like he was waiting around doing  _nothing._ And every part of him, every instinct, was telling Dean to get off his ass and do something; the problem was Dean didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. Should he look for a supernatural cure, which was a one-way ticket to pissing Sam off? Or should he start researching cancer hospitals?

He glanced over at Sam again and sat up straighter. It might have been just his imagination but Sam looked paler. Too pale to be sleeping.

"Sammy?" Dean said quietly and then louder, "Sam?" He wanted to tell himself he was overreacting but to make himself feel better, he leaned over and tapped Sam's arm. His brother's skin was hot even through the knit blanket. Too pale. Too warm.

"Sam!" he said, shaking his brother now, slipping the blanket off of him to the floor. Sam didn't wake up even as his head jostled under Dean's hand. "Jesus," Dean said, noticing the blue tint to Sam's lips and a quick check confirmed that Sam wasn't even breathing.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, turning around and rushing to the door of the room. "Help! My brother isn't breathing!" Several nurses turned in the hallway, none of whom Dean recognized. "Please," he begged. "Help him!" Then they were pushing him aside and there was a flock of people around Sam, saying his name and disconnecting his chemo. Dean was almost run over as a gurney was wheeled into the room; Sam's body seemed to flail as they moved him from the chair.

"Crash cart!" someone ordered. "Now!" Dean was up against the doorframe, almost on his knees as he watched a nurse cut away Sam's shirt, exposing his too-thin chest.

"Sammy," Dean mumbled, the word hot on his lips. What was Dean thinking? He should have been watching more closely. His brother had stopped  _breathing_ right in front of him. Someone – a nurse – was tugging on his arm, trying to get him out of the room but she was nothing against Dean's refusal to leave his baby brother. He wasn't going to let Sam die alone in a room full of strangers.

"Clear!" Sam's whole body arched upwards, reaching for the heavens, and shrieking filled Dean's ears. "Unresponsive! Let's go again." The string holding Dean upright broke and his knees hit the floor as Sam's body flew again. He looked as if he was trying to break free of something. Dean buried his head in his hands as the doctor shook his head over Sam's body and the nurses grimaced. This is what it felt like to die; Dean knew it. This complete and utter loss of everything. How could he be so numb and so in pain at the same time? It was like he was on fire but couldn't move, wouldn't move. There was no where to run to. Nothing to run from.

The doctor glanced back at Dean's prostrate position ."One more time," he said, placing the paddles on Sam's chest.

"Clear!"

Dean became aware of a hand gripping his shoulder, nails digging into skin and then a voice said,

"Look." Dean didn't want to see. That body wasn't Sam. Sam was gone. But the hand was now under his chin and tilted it up and Dean could hardly see through the tears but somehow he detected that the shrieking was gone, replaced by a series of beeps. Irregular beeps but still.

"I have a pulse!" a nurse said and the doctor bent over Sam's body.

"He's alive," Dean whispered. He stood suddenly enough to throw the person behind him off balance and pushed his way to the side of the gurney.

"Hey!" the doctor said, glancing at him. "You can't be over here." But Dean was bent over Sam, one hand on Sam's cheek, the other on his chest, feeling the not-so-steady thump of his heart under his palm. He'd never savored touch so much.

"Sammy?" Those hazel eyes flickered open and then closed again.

"He's responsive!" a nurse shouted which seemed to cause more of them to show up and there was more tugging on Dean but he didn't move.

"You scared me," Dean said, moving the hand on Sam's cheek to squeeze his brother's hand. This time, Sam kept his gaze on his brother, staring as if he hadn't seen him in years, part confusion, part relief.

Sam's lips moved but no sound came out and his whole body tensed.

"Get him out of here!" growled the doctor and two male nurses hauled Dean backwards, his fingertips skimming across Sam before they threw him out of the room.

"Tell me what's going on!" Dean said but the nurses hustled back into the room without sparing him a glance, ripping the curtain into place behind them. Dean stared at the mint green fabric for a moment and then turned away to pace the hallway.

"Sir, please wait in the waiting room," a nurse said from a little ways down the hall. "You're disturbing the other patients." She flinched when Dean's eyes turned on her, blazing with a fire that grew with each passing second.

"That's my brother," Dean told her. Despite the apprehension on her face, she walked a few steps closer to him.

"They are doing everything they can for him, I promise. The best thing for you to do right now is let them do their job. Is there anyone you need to call or talk to? Would you like to use a phone?"

Kat.

"Y-yes," Dean stuttered. "His wife. We were just here for chemo; she doesn't know."

"Let me take you to a private room," the nurse said, reaching out. Dean allowed her to put a hand on his arm but only because his mind was racing. What was he supposed to tell Kat? That Sam had almost died? That he may be dead this very second? That Dean had been too preoccupied to notice he had stopped breathing so God knows how long Sam sat there unconscious.

The nurse left Dean in a room the size of a closet but there was just enough space for a table and a couple chairs. He sank into one to stop himself from running into the walls but his knee jiggled at a violent pace as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He pressed down on Kat's number before his last remaining nerve left him.

"Hello?"

"Kat."

"What's wrong?" she said immediately and he could almost hear her checking her watch, running through Sam's treatment time and coming up about two hours early.

"Something went wrong," Dean got out. "I don't know what happened but I wasn't watching and he stopped breathing and his heart stopped and I'm so sorry Kat I couldn't do anything…" Her voice was calm, almost flat, as she asked,

"Dean. Is he gone?" Dean stood, knocking the chair backwards into the wall where it left a mark.

"I don't know, Kat. They had his heart started again but they threw me out and it – it didn't look good."

"I need to call someone to watch Parker and I'll be right over. Call me as soon as you hear anything," she instructed. "And Dean? Don't do anything stupid."

He left the room as soon as he hung up with Kat and went in search for a doctor but a duo of nurses barricaded him. They seemed to multiple every day; for every doctor in this place were about fifty nurses. They might have been everywhere but it was damn near impossible to get information out of them.

"Mr. Winchester, please have a seat in the waiting room. We'll update you about your brother's condition as soon as we can."

So Dean left and he sat in half plastic-half wooden chair until his muscles were about to explode out of his skin and then he jumped up and did laps until Kat showed up. He shook his head as she turned her frantic gaze to him from across the room.

"I haven't talked to anyone," Dean said, frustration mounting as he said the words out loud. "No one. And it's been almost an hour." Kat's purse dropped from her shoulder and she sat in one of the chairs.

"That must be a good thing, right?" she said. "I mean if it was bad they would have just told us." Dean shifted his weight from his heels the balls of his feet and back again.

"I don't know."

They waited for another half hour before Dr. Jones came through the double doors, white coat waving behind him like wings.

"Kat, Dean," he said, walking right up to them.

"How is he?" Dean asked. "Is he -?"

"Sam is unconscious but stable at the moment," Dr. Jones assured them. There was no hint of smile on his face today; his usual humor had evaporated.

"What happened?" Kat asked, her voice no longer calm but trembling. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Sam has a serious infection caused by the chemotherapy drugs. It must have developed rapidly, judging on how far it has spread. It caused his temperature to skyrocket which triggered a response much like a stroke."

"What?" Dean said. The young didn't have strokes; those were reserved for wrinkly old people in nursing homes. Sam certainly wouldn't have had one.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Jones said and he seemed like he meant it. Dean hated medical personnel as a rule in general but he had grown to like the honest doctor, much as his brother had. "We'll have to wait until Sam wakes up see if there was any permanent damage. If he wakes up." Kat drew in another deep breath but it didn't help.

"He'll wake up," Dean said, looking at the other two as if they had suggested it was time to get rid of the Impala. "Sam's a fighter; of course he'll wake up."

"If he does," Dr. Jones said, "We'll have to discuss options." The way he said options did something to Kat: she took a half back step and shook her head just once as it trying to dislodge water from her ear. "And," the doctor continued, "If Sam is unable to make such decisions, it will be you two who will have to make some choices."

It was all too much. Too much at once. Dean had just gotten over the fact his brother was still alive and then the fact he had a stroke and maybe he wouldn't wake up at all and they wanted Dean to think far enough in the future to make decisions about Sam's life?

"Can we see him?" Kat asked.

"Like I said, he's unconscious in ICU but I can get you clearance. Just one at a time though, I'm afraid."

"Go ahead," Kat said to Dean. "I want to talk to Dr. Jones some more." The smile she attempted slipped from her face.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. "I can stay with you if you want."

"Go see your brother," Dr. Jones said. "I'll take care of Kat." He put his arms around Sam's wife and murmured something to her about a cup of tea, producing a tissue from his jacket pocket.

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He followed the signs up to the Intensive Care Unit and they let him through to Sam's room which wasn't really a room at all but a curtained off cubicle that was kept open so that the nurses could observe the patients at all times. The nurse was kind enough to shut the curtain so that Dean had some privacy with Sam, however temporary or informal.

It was the first time since the Trials that Dean had seen Sam in a hospital bed and the air was sucked from his lungs as if he'd lost the ability to even contemplate breathing. Sam was under a single white sheet, tubes snaking from his nose over the side of the bed, a plastic button trapping one of his fingers between its jaws.

"You're a mess," Dean whispered, trailing a hand along the frame of Sam's bed which was as close to his brother as he dared get. "This whole thing is a mess," Dean continued. "And I don't know what to do anymore, Sam."

 


	17. Chapter 17

Sam was unconscious for almost fifteen hours. When he woke, Dean was sprawled out across three of the waiting room chairs, dozing five minutes for every twenty he was awake.

"Dean?" His eyes opened to Tracy, Sam's night nurse from ICU who had politely but firmly thrown Dean out after visiting hours. Kat had gone home but Dean didn't see the point. Sam was here. Dean had to be here when he woke up. Therefore, Dean had to stay.

"What happened?" Dean said, sitting up and wiping a string of drool from his face. He'd been using his jacket as a blanket and he caught it before it hit the floor as he stood. "Sam?"

"He's awake." Tracy's features were plain but soft and Dean thought he could kiss her as she delivered the news. "We don't usually do this but he's asking for you."

"He's talking?" Dean asked. The doctor had made it sound like if Sam woke up, he would be a vegetable.

"Mostly he's saying your name. Dr. Jones is on his way in but we think it might calm Sam down to see you right away."

"Sure," Dean said, waving her forward. "Let's go." Tracy paused outside the ICU's doors.

"Just remember that he's probably confused, Dean. No one has told him what happened other than that he's in the hospital for an infection."

"Right," Dean said, wishing she would stop talking and let him in to see his brother. Sam was just beyond those doors and like a magnet pulling it's counterpart closer, Dean's body was leaning forward, ready to spring.

"Okay," she said, moving aside. Dean was worried Sam wouldn't still be awake when he got there but he was. There was another nurse – one Dean didn't know – sitting by Sam's bedside, attempting to pacify the younger Winchester.

"Dean," Sam was saying. "Where is he?"

"Right here, Sammy," Dean said, stepping around the partially closed curtain. The nurse looked up in obvious relief and hurried to Dean's side.

"See if you can calm him down. If you have any trouble, we'll be standing by."

"Sammy," Dean said again, going to his brother. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said even though his harsh breathing and sweaty face told a different story.

"You scared me, man," Dean said, voice gentle, trying to smile down at his brother, trying to comfort him. "Don't do that again." Sam's eyes skipped over his surroundings, watching the room then watching his brother. Dean could almost see his brother's brain sorting through the facts, putting together the pieces.

"You're in the hospital," Dean helped out. "You have an infection but its not that bad," he lied. Now was not the time for honesty. He could hear a rattle as Sam's lungs drew air in and shoved it back out. "You've got to settle down, Sam. You're making these machines go crazy." He pointed to the heart monitor, which was beeping at a fast pace; he could see what the nurses meant about keeping Sam calm. The guy had just had a stroke for God's sakes. He shouldn't have even been talking, let alone throwing a fit.

But having Dean in his range of vision seemed to be doing wonders. Sam kept his gaze centered on Dean, moving it away at times but always quickly coming back to his brother as if he didn't believe he would still be there. Sweat still shone on his forehead but his breathing lowered to more normal levels and the beeping evened out. Dean pulled up a chair that was tucked in the corner of the room.

"What happened?" Sam asked. His eyes were half-closed at this point but anytime they closed all the way, he blinked them back open; he was struggling to stay awake and Dean appreciated that.

"Just an infection," Dean said smoothly, shrugging. "Not a big deal." Sam tried to laugh but coughed instead.

"Feels like a big deal," Sam panted.

"You sort of had a stroke," Dean said.

"What?"

"During chemo." Sam was sure he had heard wrong. A stroke? He'd been feeling pretty miserable but not  _that_  miserable. He was about to ask for details when his doctor pushed back the curtain and the nurses made Dean leave again.

"I'll be back, Sammy," Dean said. "I'm not leaving. Not for long."

* * *

They kept him in the dark for two days before bringing out the truth.

"It's time to make a decision," Dr. Jones told Sam. It was a sunny afternoon; he knew because Kat had opened the blinds of his room so that a rectangle of sunlight splayed across the floor and crept up the side of his bed. If he hung his left hand down, his fingertips could feel the warmth.

"What are my options?" Sam asked. They had moved him out of ICU after that first night but his mind was still a haze, his thoughts bouncing off the inside of the skull. Kat stood by his bedside, arms folded tightly across her chest. He couldn't see her face from where he lay.

"We can't continue chemotherapy, we just can't. Your reactions are too strong. You were lucky this time; next time it could be a heart attack or brain damage."

"So we do nothing?" Kat asked. Dr. Jones laid his sympathetic eyes on her.

"There are experimental treatment centers that I could try and enroll you in. They're always looking for those with late stage cancer. There's a good one in Houston, Texas." But Sam was already shaking his head.

"No," he said and Kat looked over her shoulder. "I don't want to be experimented on like a lab rat. I'm not doing that." Kat turned the rest of her body toward him.

"Sam, don't say that. We have to try something. Let's go to Texas."

"Kat," he said softly. "We're not going to Texas just so I can live an extra week or two. I want to be here with you and Parker."  _And Dean._ "I want to be close to home." Dr. Jones was nodding like he'd heard it before. He probably had. Sam was not the only soul he had reached the end of a long battle. He was tired and he could feel it was time to start letting go; he could feel it deep inside him, like a sixth sense, an animal going crazy before a storm. God he didn't want to die and leave behind his beautiful wife, his child, but it was time. And maybe that's what made him feel more confident about his decision to stop treatment, because some part of him knew it was the right thing to do and Sam Winchester always tried to do the right thing.

Dr. Jones left the couple alone. It was obvious Kat was holding back tears and Sam patted the bed next to him. She sat, gingerly at first, and then stretched her body out to lie facing him. He brushed the hair away from her face and when the tears fell he brushed those away too.

"Don't cry," he said.

"I love you so much," she whispered. "I can't let you go."

"Not yet," he said. "I'm not going anywhere right now. Okay?" She nodded and pressed closer to him Sam held her against him until her crying eased into slow breathing as she fell asleep.

Sam spent the entire next day coming up with a way to tell Dean that his baby brother was going to die. He thought about letting Kat tell him or even Dr. Jones but those were a coward's way out. Sam had to be the one to do it. He imagined Dean's reaction as angry and violent, his brother storming out of the hospital room as Sam called out behind him. But if there was any way to avoid the inevitable, Sam couldn't figure it out.

"Did you talk to the doctor yet?" Dean said as he got settled in two days after Sam's discussion with Dr. Jones. As far as Dean was concerned, they were still waiting on the lab work to come back before they made another move.

"Yeah," Sam said. Kat had been there most of the day and Dean traded places with her when the nurses changed shifts; there was a pretty blonde one that always let him stay past visiting hours. Now Sam was tired and his head was hurting even beneath the layers of pain medication they had him on. It made it even harder to think straight.

"You did?" Dean asked, putting the TV remote back on the table. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I wanted to tell you in person," Sam said. "I knew you would be here."

"So?" Dean said impatiently. "What'd he say?"

"It wasn't good," Sam started.

"No shit," Dean said. "You had a stroke. But what are we going to do about it? That's the important thing."

"Nothing." It came out sounded as empty as it did in his head. Dean didn't grasp it for a second; he let the word slide over him like motor oil.

"Sam, what are we going to do next? More chemo? Different treatment?"

"There is no more treatment," Sam said. "I'm ineligible for more chemo because of the infection. The only other option is an experimental facility in Texas. But I'm done, Dean." His brother didn't even blink. Sam, unnerved by the silence, continued, "It would only extend my life by weeks, maybe a month or two. I don't want that. I want to spend it at home, with my family."

Dean ran a hand over his face, letting his fingers skim the facial hair that had accumulated ever since Sam was brought to the hospital. They were equally unshaven; each bore a startling resemblance to their father in that moment. This was not happening, Dean thought. Maybe he'd fallen asleep in the waiting room again or maybe he'd never even made it to the hospital but this was not the way things were supposed to happen. Sam had scared the hell out of him with the infection and the stroke but Dean had rallied. He was ready for the next fight, the next round. And now Sam was telling him there was nothing to fight. Dean always had something to fight.

Not this time.

Not anymore.

His brother was dying and for the first time, Dean had no plan, no tricks up his sleeve. There was no one left to call for help: no Bobby, no Ellen, no John. Dean had nothing.

Hell wouldn't take his soul.

His backdoor to Heaven – his angel – was gone.

His brother was dying.

And soon Dean Winchester would be completely alone.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean waited twenty-four hours after they brought Sam home. He waited until Kat was out on a quick errand with Parker so that the house was still and silent. He waited until he could not wait anymore.

"Hey," Dean said, walking into his brother's bedroom to find Sam lying down, the blankets barely covering his long frame. One hand rested across Bullet's shoulder blades and though the dog's tail gave a thump when Dean came closer she didn't move. With his other hand, Sam reached for the remote and muted the TV. He was pale and his eyes were rimmed with bruises but compared to what he looked like yesterday or two days ago, Dean thought he looked wonderful.

"Hey. What's up?"

"I – uh – I want to talk to you about something, Sammy." The words were difficult to get out even though he'd played them over in his mind about a dozen times, until he knew them inside and out, backward and forward. Hell, he'd even practiced in the mirror once or twice before shaking his head and going to Sam before he could back out. Besides, it wasn't what he was going to say that scared Dean, it was what Sam was going to say back.

"Yeah, Dean, I get that," Sam said but the tease fell flat when Dean refused to look his brother in the eye. "What's wrong? Do you have to leave or something?" Dean's head snapped up from where he'd been examining a faint scar on his left palm.

"What? No!" The question had thrown him off-balance. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," Sam said. "You just look upset. Did something happen to Kevin?" Dean really had to get the words out before Sam kept drawing up awful scenarios.

"Shut up and let me get this out," Dean said, sitting on the bed beside Bullet. She reached out and pawed at his leg until he scratched her ears. "I just wanted to ask you a question." Sam stayed quiet like he had been told but his mind was spinning towards dangerous thoughts. Was Dean sick too? Was something wrong in the hunting world? Maybe Garth had gone and gotten himself in trouble. But what did that have to do with Sam?

"I just wanted to know if," Dean shifted his gaze to the ceiling and blinked rapidly. "God, this is hard – I just wanted to know if you wanted me to look for something?"

"What?"

"Because I will Sam. I swear I'll look and I mean, I'll probably find something too, and man, every bone in my body wants to start looking, you know? But I wanted to ask you first." He was out of breath by the time he stopped talking and he couldn't tell if it was because he was nervous or if because the goddamn tears were threatening to come back but his heart was pounding either way.

Sam sat up, taking his hand off Bullet and pulling his long legs under him with a wince so he was sitting Indian style across from Dean. He felt like crap and his hair was greasy and he still reeked of the hospital but he was one hundred percent lucid for the first time in a week. And that meant he understood what Dean was asking.

"No, Dean," he said, staring at his brother even though Dean was busy looking everywhere else but at Sam.

"Sam, I swear -," but Sam cut him off.

"I know," he said. "I know you want to. And part of me does too." Dean swung his gaze over to his brother in disbelief but Sam shakes his head.

"But between you out there busting your ass for a useless cure and sticking around, I'd rather have you here with me."

It was probably the most sentimental thing Sam had said in years. Sure, the brothers knew that once upon a time they were inseparable, codependent to a fault, but even back then they had rarely voiced their feelings to each other. Even more rarely when they were sober. But here Sam was, admitting that he wanted Dean by his side.

Admitting that he wanted to die.

"We've spent our entire lives cheating Death and I think that this time is different. You know, maybe it's not about finding a way to live forever or living until we're old and gray. I just want to spend time with my family. All of my family."

It was a testament to how much Dean had already let go that he simply stood up and walked out of the room without another word. But Sam knew he wouldn't look. Maybe he would scroll through the Internet for a couple days or a week but it would be half-hearted and mindless, more out of habit than anything.

Dying still scared Sam but for different reasons than it did when he was younger. Sam used to be frightened of what would happen to him when he died, where he would go. The question of would he still exist at all used to keep him up at night. It was the only thing that had kept him from killing himself when Lucifer had appeared live and in color. Even after the mysteries of heaven and hell had been solved, Sam didn't want to die. He wanted to end up in neither place; his setting of choice was in the passenger seat of the Impala next to his big brother. For all those years, it was the only place he felt safe. For a minute, a deep ache settled in the pit of Sam's stomach as some part of him yearned to have those years back.

There was something to be said for spending so much time in the company of someone who would do anything to keep you safe. To keep you alive. He had no doubt Kat would put herself in the line of fire for him without question but it wasn't the same. Dean's almost obsessive need to make sure Sam kept breathing was as much a comfort as it was an annoyance. It simply meant that Sam felt protected wherever he went, just shy of having a bodyguard. And after so many years of playing those roles, Sam had felt the absence of Dean like a missing lung. For three years he'd been living his life slightly off balance, as if gravity itself had shifted without his brother there.

At first, he had wanted desperately to return to the bunker. He'd almost turned around about fifteen times on the drive away and when the trashy car he had stolen gave out, his phone was in his hand, his thumb on the only speed dial that mattered. But then Sam thought of the Hunt the two of them had been on a few weeks earlier. It was supposed to be a quick trip, there was a rogue vampire giving folks trouble in Nebraska and they were the closest ones. Dean had spent the entire car ride making sure Sam was okay with it.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked, glancing over from the drivers seat. Sam rolled his eyes and stretched his legs as far as they would go in the cramped Impala.

"I'm fine," he said. "We took out that werewolf last week with no problem."  _Almost no problem,_ he thought. He made an effort not to run a finger across the line of stitches along his jawbone. That one had bled a lot but it was his fault. "And those twin ghosts last month." Sam didn't miss the way Dean shifted in his seat when he brought it up, but again, Dean's cracked rib had been Sam's fault. Slow reflexes.

"Alright," Dean gave in even though he shouldn't have. But he was itching for something to do, begging for a fight. Sam could tell in the way his fingertips danced across the steering wheel to the tune of the music and how even when he asked Sam  _are you sure,_  his eyes were bright. Dean loved hunting.

It started out simple. The vamp was not only rogue but stupid. He'd left a clear trail of human corpses to his nest, which he appeared to be sharing with only himself.

 _One and done_ , Dean had said cheerfully as they hunkered down just outside the vamps headquarters and waited for night. When it hit two in the morning and nothing happened, Dean had grown impatient and gone in.

"Stay here," he ordered. "Make sure it doesn't sneak up on me." Then he disappeared into the darkness and Sam waited for the sounds of a struggle. He was crouched low to the ground, hadn't eaten all day, and was growing more irritable with each minute that Dean failed to show up dragging a headless corpse behind him. This was so stupid. Why had he even come? Dean could do this by himself. There was a ringing in his ears that hadn't left since the Trials and he thought he'd learned to hear around it but that ringing plus the distractions of hunger and annoyance deafened him to soft footsteps, making it too easy for the vampire to creep up behind him and grab Sam by the throat.

He probably wouldn't have survived if the vamp hadn't slammed him hard against the barn walls, shaking the structure and alerting Dean. Still, there was no more air left in Sam's lungs and his legs had stopped kicking by the time his brother rounded the corner.

"Sam!" Dean roared and came at them, machete swinging. With a grunt, the vampire dropped Sam to the ground, taking care to step and crush several of Sam's fingers before starting the brawl with the elder Winchester. Sam came to just in time to see Dean hacking the filthy thing's head off in a spray of blood. It wasn't until after Dean was kneeling next to him, checking for a pulse even though Sam's eyes were open that he noticed the odd angle at which Dean's elbow was bent.

"What happened?" Sam panted, cradling his own broken hand in his lap. There were two – no, three – Deans hovering over him and each one look equal parts concerned and pissed off.

"Sammy, did you hit your head?"

Sam's throat was sore from being strangled and there was blood trickling into his mouth. Or maybe out of his mouth. He couldn't tell.

"Sam! Focus!" But that was the last thing Sam was thinking of so Dean pulled his head forward, inspecting his head and neck and swearing loudly in Sam's ear when he found a large area of blood on the back of Sam's head.

"Come on," he said. "I gotta patch you up before that bleeds too much." Sam tried to shake Dean off as he stood; his legs worked just fine.

"I'm fine," he said and cringed at the slight slur of his words. He really was fine. He just had a headache and his fingers hurt and God, he was hungry.

Dean yelped when Sam knocked into him, jarring Dean's arm that was more shattered than in one piece.

"Jesus, Sam," he said through gritted teeth but he just switched sides so that Sam was leaning on his unbroken arm. Somehow Dean managed to get the semi-conscious Sam to a hospital with only one functioning arm.

"Sam, don't go to sleep," he kept saying during the drive, steering with his knees in order to lean over and smack Sam on the shoulder.

"Stop hitting me," Sam would grumble as his eyes fluttered open.

"Then stop closing your eyes. You've got a concussion." The ringing was louder in Sam's ears now; Dean's voice was just a hum. And he was tired. He tried to tell Dean this but his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth so instead he cradled his smashed hand and moaned.

"I don't know about this, Sammy," Dean said hours later as he sat by Sam's hospital bed. In his pocket were a couple bottles of painkillers meant for his arm that was now encased in plaster from his knuckles to his shoulder.

"What are you talking about?" Besides four broken fingers and a moderate concussion, there was bruising peeking out from the collar of his hospital gown where the vamp had tried to suffocate him. Dean tried to convince himself that Sam was fine, but there was a pain deep in his gut as he watched Sam wince when swallowing a sip of water.

"Hunting."

"What are you talking about?" Sam repeated, partly because he didn't want to talk about it and partly because he wasn't exactly sure what he didn't want to talk about.

"Never mind," Dean said. "Get some sleep, okay? I'll come get you tomorrow and we'll go back to the bunker."

The inevitable conversation hadn't been pretty. There was a lot of Dean saying  _I know, Sam, I know_  and a lot of Sam huffing and apologizing for Dean's broken arm and his cracked rib.

"You're just not up to speed," Dean said as he put a plate of food in front of Sam and went back into the kitchen for his own.

"Dean, I think – I think this is as good as it's gonna get. I'm just going to have to live with it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean said, trying to figure out how to eat a burger one handed. Sam hadn't even looked at his own meal.

"It means that maybe this is the new me. New and improved," he said dryly.

"Well," Dean said after a moment. "Then you can't hunt."

"What?"

"You heard me." Sam stood and shoved away from the table, knocking Dean's burger out of its precarious grip.

"What the hell, man?"

"You can't just tell me what to do like that," Sam said, seething. His chest was heaving in anger.

"I can when you almost got yourself killed a week ago! Not to mention that," Dean said, gesturing at the raised scar on Sam's jaw. "Or my rib."

"How many times do you want to apologize?" Sam shouted. "Geez, Dean, I'm trying my best!"

"I know," Dean said, more quietly. "That's the problem. You know that Hunters have to be at the top of their game. One slipup can cost us. Big time. Next time we're not going to be so lucky with my arm or your fingers. I don't want to be there when something snaps your neck because you can't move fast enough." Sam was stunned. It was like Dean had been storing all this up into a pre-planned speech. He had obviously put some thought into it and it still came out sounding too rough.

"You don't want me hunting with you," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Not like this," Dean said. "We've had a great run but maybe it's time for you to hang up your boots. Take some time off, go on a vacation, hang around the bunker, I don't care. But you're not hunting if you're not one hundred percent." His eyes were pleading with Sam to understand. "Sam, you're not even at seventy-five percent. I can tell. I don't want you to get the kind of hurt that can't be fixed."

Sam scoffed and stomped away, locking himself in his room for two days before packing a bag and heading out the door. He didn't even try to sneak out; he walked right past Dean who was still in his bathrobe, using a pen to scratch under his cast.

"Where are you going?"

"Away."

"Are you coming back?" Sam kept his back toward his brother because he knew that he saw the hurt expression in Dean's eyes, he would stay.

"No. I-I have to go. If I'm not going to hunt again, I need to get on with my life. I'll call you." Then he walked out the door with only that promise lingering in his wake.

Except he hadn't called. He'd left and once he found Kat, he hadn't looked back.


	19. Chapter 19

"Hey big boy," Sam said, looking in on his sleeping son. Parker's eyes fluttered open, focusing on his father; he gave a shy smile and rolled over, hugging a blanket. "Come here sleepyhead." He lifted the toddler of the crib and Parker wrapped his arms around his father's neck, falling back asleep on Sam's shoulder. "Just you and me today, buddy." It had been a week since Sam had gotten home from the hospital and it was the first time Dean and Kat had left him alone. Kat was out to breakfast with a couple girlfriends and Dean was out getting a haircut. And, to thank him for the last few months, Kat had booked him a massage at the spa downtown, something he had protested until he saw the pictures of the massage therapist on her website.

"You know, my back  _has_  been feeling a little tight," he said, making a show of stretching over the back of his chair at dinner the night before. "Ever since that Wendigo."

"That Wendigo" seemed like a long time ago to Sam when in reality it had only been four months. Four months ago, Dean had shown up half-dead on Sam's doorstep, bleeding and grinning at the same time. When they had taken Parker to the indoor swimming pool yesterday and Dean had gotten in to play with the toddler, three scars stood out across his back, raised, red claw marks that would never fade. Dean would carry a reminder of that day forever.

Kat asked no less than four times if she should call a babysitter but Sam insisted he could handle a couple hours with his son. He wasn't any more tired than usual and he thought it wise to take advantage of these good days before they disappeared.

"Are you hungry?" Sam asked and Parker shook his head against his father's collarbone. Sam carried him to the living room and sat in the recliner. Bullet had followed them and after standing for a minute, lay down on the floor at Sam's feet, her side overlapping his toes.

They were at the tail end of September and you could feel it in the breeze, in the way they stopped opening the windows at night. The leaves were still green and the trees were full but the slow pace of summer had hastened into a scramble for winter. The sun was warm though and splashed across Sam and Parker like a blanket. The house was silent and with his child curled in his lap, Sam thought he was living in the most perfect moment.

"Daddy?" Parker said, tilting his head to look at Sam. His hair was long – too long – and spilled into his eyes in a way that Sam found adorable.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I is hungry." His son was so much like Dean, it almost frightened Sam at times. The kid had a quick temper and was impatient, even for a two-year-old. He was also always hungry.

"I just asked you that," Sam teased but he stood from the chair, careful not to trip over Bullet who trotted after them to the kitchen. When Sam went to set Parker on the counter, the child clasped onto Sam's shirt.

"Don't let go!" he whined. He wasn't usually a clingy child but Sam picked him up anyway, filling a bowl with cereal one-handed and letting Parker eat on Sam's lap instead of in his high chair chair like Kat insisted on.

Revitalized by food, Parker shimmied off Sam's lap and disappeared into the living room. Shaking his head at the turn around, Sam followed him.

"Let's pway Daddy," Parker said, his butt sticking up in the air as he bent over his toy chest. They played cars for an hour, building a racetrack out of a set Parker had gotten a few weeks ago for his birthday.

"Hey, come here for a sec," Sam said an hour later, snatching the boy on way to set a car at the beginning of the track. Parker fell into Sam's arms and squealed as Sam tickled him before cradling like he was an infant again. Parker smiled up at him, holding his miniature Chevy Impala in his grip.

"What Daddy?" He squirmed to get free but Sam's hold was gentle but firm.

"I just wanted to tell you I love you. You know that?" The child went still as if Sam had told him something awful. He'd been twisting around but his head turned toward Sam, eyes wide. For a moment, father and son just stared at each other and for just a fleeting second, Sam felt as though he was seeing an older version of his son, not the little boy in his arms. Parker reached up to pat a palm against Sam's cheek.

"I wuv you too, Daddy," he said and Sam clutched the child close to his chest. Parker stayed frozen as if he knew what was going on. Sam let him go a minute later and the toddler scrambled for his dropped car, unaware that his father was wiping his face on the inside of his sleeve.

At least he was leaving something behind. A legacy wasn't something Sam had ever worried about; he had always assumed that once he was gone, that was it. Now things had changed. Against all odds, there was another Winchester to carry on the name. Sam had time to think and daydream and he imagined that Parker would grow up as a high school athlete, get a scholarship to a nearby college, find the love of his life and settle down. It was everything that Sam wanted and nothing he got.

Well, not until three years ago.

Better late than never.

* * *

The days passed too quickly, for everyone. Sam could feel the time skidding by, tumbling over itself in its hurry to get away from him. One week turned into two and all of a sudden it was October and he was still holding on. Instead of moping around waiting for the inevitable, Kat and Dean made sure he was always busy. Between the two of them and his son, Sam was kept as much as on his toes as possible. They went back to the park where Parker's birthday had been and Sam sat with two blankets over him in a folding chair Dean had packed away, watching Parker laugh and laugh as Dean raked up huge piles of leaves for the toddler to dive into. Every so often he would run back to Sam and hold out fistfuls of crushed leaves. The house was soon littered with the tiny fragments of nature as they stuck to everyone's clothes and the blankets. Parker marched leaves into the house faster than Kat could vacuum them up.

Kat took Sam to get his hair trimmed and Dean tried to sneak the hairdresser a twenty to cut all Sam's hair off but Sam – ever alert – caught him by the wrist and kicked him out of the barbershop.

"It doesn't look any different!" Dean complained when Sam walked out half an hour later.

"Good," Sam said.

There was the day that Dean and Sam convinced Kat to go out for the day. Her mother had called the night before and said she booked the two of them a six-hour-spa excursion about an hour away.

"I don't feel right leaving you," Kat said to Sam, even after she had her purse all packed and was waiting to be picked up. Dean rolled his eyes from his place in the kitchen but kept quiet. She had been saying the same thing since the phone call, insisting that she needed to be around.

"We'll be fine," Sam repeated. "Between Dean and I, we can handle a two-year-old."

"Are you sure you feel up to it?" This time it was Sam who rolled his eyes.

"Yes. And even if I didn't, Dean is more than capable of being responsible for a day." With his hands full of soapy dishwater, Dean raised his eyebrows and smirked at the plate he was washing. He'd gotten pretty good at the whole babysitting thing.

"Don't hesitate to call any of the babysitters," Kat said. Dean heard Barbara's car pull in the drive. "And you know the neighbors will help out if you need."

"I know," Sam said. Dean went to get the door, letting Barbara embrace him in a warm hug.

"You gotta get her out of here," he said in a low voice. "She's driving Sam crazy. She's driving  _me_ crazy." Barbara winked.

"Don't worry, I've got this." She strode into the living room where Kat was now explaining all the pre-made meals in the freezer. Sam gave Dean a  _help me_  look over his wife's head and then smiled at his mother-in-law.

"Are you ready to go?" Barbara asked her daughter.

"I guess," Kat said.

"Good. Get your bag and let's go." Kat looked surprised at her brusqueness.

"Don't you want a cup of coffee or anything? We have some good muffins."

"No, we should hit the road."

"Okaaay," Kat said, getting off the couch and disappearing.

"All part of my plan," Barbara whispered and Sam tried not to look too relieved. "You boys have fun today."

Fifteen minutes later and they were gone and the house was blissfully quiet for a full ten minutes after that. Then Sam went to check on Parker who had been down for a morning nap and came back carrying the toddler in his arms. He reached for his uncle who gathered him up.

"'Pala?" he said hopefully, voice still soft from sleep. His nephew still had that infant-like smell about him, of baby powder and milk, and Dean had grown to like it.

"Maybe later," Dean said. "But first Daddy has a really fun something for you to do." Sam had been waiting all week for an opportunity like this. A while back he had bought a bunch of finger paint but hadn't brought it out yet so not to freak Kat out with the mess. It was one of the things from his childhood he remembered enjoying the most, which was odd because he must have only done it a few times in school, all the way back in pre-school and kindergarten.

They threw Parker into one of Sam's old shirts to avoid ruining the toddler's clothes and then layered the entire table with newspaper. Dean looked at the white carpet for a minute and then started laying newspaper on the floor too. Bullet came over to investigate but took a step back as soon as Sam opened the paint.

"That stinks," Dean said, covering his face with his arm. "What is that?"

"Special finger paint," Sam said. "Non-toxic or whatever." Parker was sitting in his high chair, practically falling out of Sam's shirt. When he was standing, it hung all the way to the floor and he had kept tripping on it so Sam had grabbed a rubber band and tied it. It was still much too big.

At first, the child was hesitant to put his fingers in the weird substance his dad put on a paper plate in front of him but after he got over the smell and how cold it was, a big grin appeared on his face.

"'ook Daddy!" he said, smearing a gob of red on a piece of paper.

"Wow, look at that!" Sam said, watching his son with pride. "Maybe you'll be an artist." Dean snorted and sat down beside Parker, dipping his own finger in the paint and drawing the outline of a car. Badly.

"What's that supposed to be?" Sam said.

"Hush," Dean said. "I'm learning." Parker squealed when he discovered he could dip his whole hands in the paint and smear his tiny palms over the paper.

"Okay, maybe not an artist," Sam said, watching. "Maybe a writer like Mommy."

"Or a pro-football player," Dean said, drawing another picture. "Or a wrestler."

"Or whatever he wants to be," Sam said, ruffling his son's hair, who craned his neck to look at his father. In doing so, the arm nearest Dean flailed and hit the eldest Winchester on the cheek. Dean froze.

"It's on me," he said quietly. "Sam, there's paint on me!" But Sam was too busy laughing at the green smudge. Parker's mouth formed a perfect 'O' and then his eyes got that dangerous twinkle in them. Before Dean could react, the toddler dipped his hand back in the paint and reached out for his uncle, managing to get a dab of red on Dean's nose before the Hunter pulled away.

"Hey!" he said, as Sam howled with laugher, almost on his knees with mirth.

"'Ean is pwetty," Parker said. Dean sighed; he couldn't argue with that. Better the kid learned now.

"Handsome," he corrected. "But pretty works too."

"Co'ere," Parker insisted, straining to reach Dean again and with another sigh he leaned forward, letting Parker place a dollop of yellow on his other cheek. He heard the shutter on Sam's phone going off and thanked the entire world right then and there no one else could see this. Dean Winchester, the man that demons and angel feared, the one who had killed and burned more than he could remember, was soon covered forehead to chin in paint. Parker giggled as he continued to make his uncle "pwetty", finding the activity much more rewarding than the pictures he had drawn.

"Bullet, come!" Dean said without warning. The shepherd, who had been snoozing nearby, rose and came to Dean's side. Sam realized what his brother planned to do only after Dean had planted a large handprint on the dog's head. "Good girl!" he said, smiling evilly up at Sam but just looking ridiculous since his face was more paint than skin. Sam stopped laughing.

"Did you just paint my dog?" Dean looked down in mock surprise at the now tan and black and purple dog.

"I think I did," he said, astonished. "Look at that." Parker leaned over his high chair, reaching downwards, and grabbed the end of Bullet's tail as she took refuge behind Sam, leaving a red streak.

"That's it," Sam said, dipping two fingers into the paint. Dean couldn't quite duck quick enough and he felt something cold drip down his neck.

"In my hair?" he whined. Parker was laughing hysterically as the two brothers began chasing each other around the kitchen area, each with a jar of paint in hand, each laughing themselves.

"You're ridiculous," Sam said as Dean slid over the top of the table, sending the newspaper spiraling to the floor.

"Hey, I haven't used my moves in a while. Gotta keep in practice." Sam chuckled and dropped into the chair Dean had previously occupied. He was out of breath but once it was for a good reason.

"You need a bath," he told his son, who, despite being the only one not painted on, was covered in the stuff. It was on his face, his chest, in his hair. Sam even though he saw some glimmering on his son's teeth.

"I've got him," Dean said. "You can be on clean up duty down here.'

Sam watched in half-amazement as Dean picked up the toddler and taking him to the bathroom. His brother had fit himself in so smoothly to the role of caretaker of everyone in the household. More surprising was his growing attachment to Parker and what was even more surprising than that was the fact Dean actually seemed to be enjoying himself rather than just taking on babysitting as another chore or duty. It really was all Sam could have asked for, to have his son and big brother getting along.

If it came down to him having to leave something behind, he was glad it was this.

* * *

The good days got farther in between and the criteria for good went from being able to go for a walk down the street to being able to eat dinner at the table. Dinner for Sam was stressful because he just wasn't hungry. But his two babysitters kept such a watchful eye that he forced down several bites at each meal just to get them off his back. It's not like it mattered anyway. Not in the long run. The cancer would kill him whether he ate his vegetables or not.

"Not hungry?" Kat said, removing the plate from in front of him without waiting for an answer. He was the only one left at the table; Dean had taken the toddler for ice cream at Kat's request.

"Sorry," Sam said, not really sorry at all. His bones hurt in a way that couldn't be relieved. They hurt if he sat up, lied down, walked around the living room; nothing seemed to alleviate the discomfort. Kat noticed.

"Come here," she said, leaving the dishes in the sink and taking her husband by the hand. He sighed but hoisted himself out of the chair with effort, following her at a slower pace than he used to, not that she minded. If only everything could be as slow as Sam's stride instead of feeling like someone was winding the clock forward when she wasn't looking.

He was already wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and she got changed into something comfortable while he sat on the bed, watching.

"Lay down on your stomach," she said, pushing him gently, rearranging the pillows so he was supported.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she turned off the lights and lit the candles they kept on the bedside tables. His face was merely a shadow in the flicker of light and she couldn't tell how sick he was, couldn't see his sallow skin and the way his cheekbones stuck out like sharpened knives.

"Shh," she said, pushing his t-shirt up to his shoulders and trying not to think about the fact she could feel every bone beneath her fingers. It was like touching a skeleton.

Except that it was Sam, the man she loved more than anything in the world. Carefully, she massaged his sore muscles, the ones that were so coiled into knots she couldn't possibly be doing any good. Sam relaxed under her touch though, a soft sigh escaping from his lips.

"Thank you," he mumbled, eyes closed. "Feels so good." She smiled and kept rubbing, his warm skin causing her fingers to grow hot. When her hands were tired, she replaced them with her lips, kissing the knobs of his spine, kissing his still broad shoulders. He flipped over when she got to the crease between his neck and shoulder, pulling her on top of him.

"Am I hurting you?" she breathed, inches away from his face. Their stomachs were pressed together, separated only by her shirt and she could feel him breathing under her. It was the most comforting sensation in the world. Sam shook his head and kissed her back, breaking it only for a moment to pull her shirt over her head and then again so she could wriggle out of her shorts while his sweatpants were also disposed of.

"I love you," he said into her ear, letting his teeth graze her skin as he said it. He wanted to be as close to her as possible; he wanted to put the words into her body so they could never escape. Her back arched at her words but she paused only for a second before resuming her quest of making her husband hers. Because there would never be another man after this, somewhere deep in her heart she knew that. But it didn't make her depressed or lonely. Only grateful that she had known true love.

"I love you, Sam Winchester," she said, not moving her lips from his skin so he could feel the words, could feel how much she never wanted to let go. His fingers caught her hair, bringing her face up to his, hazel eyes pouring into blue ones, speaking the words they couldn't – wouldn't – with their mouths.

It was easier to say I love you than goodbye.


	20. Chapter 20

It was a Tuesday at the end of October, a few days before Halloween. Parker was with a babysitter at the park or something and Kat was out on a quick grocery run so Dean had the house to himself. Well, almost. The hospital bed that had become a permanent fixture about a week ago was propped up in the living room and Sam's eyes were closed, skin washed to a pale blue from the screen of the television. Dean flicked the TV off and watched his brother. He'd lost even more weight; the skin around his eyes seemed sunken in and he had a couple days worth of five o'clock shadows growing. Dean would help him shave tomorrow knowing that Sam hated to feel unkempt.

Before he left the bunker, almost the entire time Dean had known his brother, Sam had slept fitfully. More often than not, he tossed and turned more than he slept, waking several times a night. He was a night-reader, a night-eater, a night-everything. Dean could sleep through most anything but Sam woke up to the sound of the curtains rustling. Now, for the last week or so, he slept like a slab of stone, not a muscle twitching. It was disconcerting and Dean often stopped by the room just to make sure his brother's chest was still moving beneath the blankets. He knew it was the drugs but he wished Sam would moan or roll over or do  _something_. But he stayed quiet and still, as if frozen.

Bullet was in her usual place under the bed, nose visible. She rarely left Sam's side these days. Dean thought back to the talk he had with the dog in the front yard the day he brought her home. Maybe she really had understood what her job was. The entire time she had lived with them, she had been Sam's. She ate only when he was in the room, she sat on the bath mat when Sam took a shower, she had slept by his side of the bed until Sam couldn't make it up the stairs anymore and now she slept with him in the living room. When she saw Dean, she raised her head.

"You need to go out?" he whispered to the dog. He slapped his thigh gently and she rose, creeping out from under the bed, stopping to stretch before padding to the back door. He followed her outside, sitting on the deck while she wandered out into the grass. The air was brisk but the ache in his lungs felt good. It reminded him of how alive he was, even if everything around him was dying. The grass, the leaves, his brother.

Having done her business, Bullet joined him on the deck. To his surprise, she sat down next to his chair instead of whining to go inside like she usually did. He waited a moment and then put a hand on her head, fondling her silky ears.

"You doing okay?" he asked her. She stared straight ahead. "I know," he continued. "It's hard to see him like this. But what else can we do?" Still not looking at him, Bullet sighed. "Nothing. That's right. We can't do a damn thing."

He both longed for and dreaded the day that was coming. Right now, life was pulled taut; Dean was using the hours of the day as stepping stones, just trying to get to the next sunrise. There was so much to do and yet it didn't seem like enough. The medications, the concerned neighbors, taking care of Parker and Bullet, making sure Sam was comfortable, making sure Kat was okay. Dean hadn't slept in three days because he was terrified that the minute he closed his eyes, Sam would be gone. These were his last chances.

"It might not be like this in a week," he said out loud and he hated the way the words sounded. Soon it would all be over and Dean would long for this stretch of waiting. He might be doing nothing but at least his brother was alive.

Bullet whined and Dean stood.

"Yeah, you're right. We shouldn't leave him alone for too long." He was so out of it he didn't even question when he began talking to the dog as if it was a person.

Sam was awake when the two entered the room.

"Hey!" Dean said, rushing over almost as quickly as Bullet who sat at the bedside and pushed her nose against Sam's fingers. He moved his hand to cover her ears and she rested her head on the edge of the bed. "Sorry, I didn't know you were awake. I wouldn't have left."

"It's okay," Sam whispered. "Water?" Dean grabbed a plastic cup from the table and held it as Sam drank through a straw.

"This is humiliating," Sam said when he was done, turning his face away. His fingers kept massaging Bullet's fur.

"This?" Dean said, trying to keep his tone light. "Nah man, at least you're covered up. Remember when that skinwalker got a hold of you and I had to bathe you naked?  _That_  was humiliating. This is nothing." A rumble came from Sam's chest as he laughed.

"Okay, yeah. Where's Kat?"

"The store. She should be back soon. You want me to call her?" His cell was already out in his hand, scrolling through his numbers.

"No."

"You hungry? We got plenty of food." There were covered dishes stacked to the top of the refrigerator. They had gotten so many that Dean had went out and bought a mini-fridge to keep in the garage and that was close to full too.

"Actually, yeah," Sam said. Dean tried not to look surprised. Sam didn't really eat anymore except for the occasional bowl of broth and sometimes a cup of yogurt or jello.

"Want some soup? Or some crackers? I think I saw some fresh fruit on the table."

Sam almost laughed again at Dean's eagerness. Sure, Dean was always protective and helpful when they were younger but he had gone through his teenage years like everyone else. And that meant there was a stretch of time whenever Sam asked for something, Dean had replied: "get it yourself."

"Um, Dean? I could really go for a burger." Dean didn't even try to hide his surprise this time.

"What?"

"I dunno, I just really want one. Like, I could use some really greasy fast food crap." Dean hesitated, unsure if this was a trick but Sam stared at him straight on.

"Okaaaay, I'll just run and get you something."

"I want to come with you." Dean chuckled.

"You might not have noticed but you're in a hospital bed. You're not going anywhere."

"No, I feel really good." To prove his point, Sam reached over and threw off his blankets, turning his body so that his legs hung over the side of the bed. Bullet backed up a couple steps and looked up at Dean as if to say,  _Should he really be doing that?_

Dean actually shrugged at the dog.

"Get my shoes," Sam ordered, grabbing a sweatshirt from the end of the bed and throwing it over his t-shirt. The sweatpants he wore were fairly clean so he left those on, taking forever to tie up the laces of his sneakers as Dean watched.

"Are you sure about this?" Dean asked as Sam finally set his second foot down.

"Yes. I told you, I feel good."

"They must have you on some really good drugs," Dean muttered. "Don't move, I'm leaving Kat a note. She's gonna kill me for this, you know." From the kitchen, Dean heard Sam reply with,

"Probably."

He scribbled out a note, underlining the phrase  _don't worry_  three times and telling her they would be back soon.

In the living room, Sam was leaning against the front door, somehow he had gotten up the small step from the living room to the hallway.

"I told you not to move!" He held Bullet's leash in one hand although with the way the shepherd was pressed against his leg, it wouldn't be necessary.

"Come help me to the car," Sam said, as if they did this every day when in fact the last time he left the house to go anywhere besides the hospital was weeks ago. Dean clipped the leash to Bullet's collar so she wouldn't trip Sam and then threw one of Sam's arms around his neck. When Sam leaned into Dean, he couldn't help but think that his brother used to be so much heavier. He could feel Sam's ribs pressing against his even through the sweatshirt.

"Go slow," Dean ordered and Sam grunted as he worked to put one leg in front of the other. It was true he was having a good day; he hadn't felt this strong in ages, but that didn't change the fact his legs trembled under him from disuse. The brothers bypassed Sam's SUV without comment, heading toward the Impala maybe out of habit or instinct or just pure nostalgia.

Dean settled Sam into the passenger seat.

"Do you want a blanket or something?" Dean asked even though it was warm out for the first week in October. Dean was just wearing a t-shirt having forgotten his jacket but he wasn't cold at all.

"Get in the car," Sam said, pulling the door shut, almost crushing Dean's fingers.

"I liked him better unconscious," Dean muttered to Bullet but he was close to beaming as he rounded the back of the Impala before letting Bullet jump in the backseat.

"I can't believe you let a dog in the car," Sam said, grinning as Bullet licked his ear.

"Shut up. I don't want to talk about it," Dean said, throwing a cassette into the player and letting AC/DC fill the car.

"Too loud?" he asked a minute later as they pulled out of the neighborhood. Sam shook his head and rolled down the window, looking happier than Dean had seen him in weeks. Part of Dean wanted to keep driving, just keep going down the road. That part of him still believed Sam would pull through. An hour ago, his brother had practically been on his deathbed and now he was sitting – well, slouching – in the front seat of the Impala as if the two were on their way to a hunt. If Dean could drive fast enough, maybe they could leave the disease behind.

"Here," Sam said, pointing to a hand-painted wooden sign, advertising, "Joe's Best Burgers". There was a burger grinning at them. Yes, grinning. It had eyes and a mouth and –

"That is freaky," Dean said, raising his eyebrows. "Are they trying to make me feel guilty for eating a hamburger?" But he pulled into the parking lot, noting the uneven surface of the gravel parking lot.

"You stay here," Dean said to Sam. "Keep the dog company." Sam tried to protest but Dean shut the door in his face, giving his brother a wave from the burger stand as he ordered two meals.

"He's such a dork," Sam told Bullet, who had clambered to the driver's seat and was peering out the window, fogging it up with doggie breath. "But I'm glad he stuck around, you know? I can't imagine - ," Sam fell quiet. He couldn't imagine going through this without his brother, that's what he had been going to say.

"Alright," Dean said, opening the car door with his thumb and pushing it the rest of the way open with his hip. In one hand was a bag already flecked with grease and the other was a drink carrier with three cups in it.

"What the hell?" Dean said when he saw Bullet. "That's going too far, Sam!"

"She did it herself," Sam protested, laughing. "I promise."

"Get," Dean commanded and Bullet squirmed back into the back seat. "God, I hate dogs," Dean mumbled, throwing her a nasty look.

"Hey, be nice to the dying man and his dog," Sam said. In response, Dean handed him the drinks. When Sam reached for the bag, Dean pushed his hand away.

"Wait."

"We're not eating?"

"Not here."

Dean drove for about twenty minutes and then turned into the driveway for a park. It was one of the places he had stopped on the side of the road when he first came here, slashed up from the Wendigo. He'd parked the Impala just inside the park and panted up at the sky, trying not to pass out. The edges of his memory from that time were blurry but he remembered this place well enough.

He parked the Impala close to a picnic area that was out in the sun. There was one of those open charcoal grills that looked like it hadn't been used in fifty years but there was also a sturdy looking table. He let Bullet out first, unclipping her leash before going to help Sam out.

"Dean, I got it. I promise I'm not going to pass out or anything," Sam said, moving by himself the whole ten feet from the car to the picnic table. He put a good bravado but Dean didn't miss the grimace when Sam lowered himself onto the bench.

"Just trying to get you home in one piece," he said. "Or we'll both be dead." Bullet came over to the table, sniffing every inch of Sam as if to make sure he was okay before cocking her head at Dean, her eyes trained on the bag in his hands. She gave a polite wag of her tail.

"What do you want?" he said, handing a paper-wrapped burger to Sam. He took out one of his own and put a Styrofoam container of French fries on the table. "Oh, look," he said to Sam, who was unwrapping his burger. "There's another burger in here. I wonder who that's for." Sam grinned as Dean took the extra burger out, unwrapped it, and tore it into pieces for Bullet.

"You're such a softie," Sam said.

"Just don't tell anyone," Dean said, taking a bite of his own burger. "God, this is good!"

"I practically lived off of them before I got a job here," Sam said. "Delicious and cheap."

"Two of my favorite words."

The boys ate in silence, Dean inhaling his burger and most of the fries while Sam took his time, nibbling off small bites of his burger.

"Man, your neighbors are great and I'll eat lasagna forever but nothing tastes better than some fast food," Dean said, balling up the extra paper. "Sometimes, I kinda miss being on the road."

"Me too." Sam was just all kinds of surprising today.

"Really? I thought you hated it." Sam shrugged.

"Sometimes, I miss it. It doesn't mean that I want to do it again or that I would change anything from the past few years. But when I think about it, everything seemed simpler back when it was just you and me taking on the world."

"Our glory days," Dean said, just a hint of wistfulness to his tone.

"I can't believe it all led to this," Sam said, throwing the last of his hamburger to Bullet who was sniffing a nearby tree.

Dean didn't want to talk about Sam being sick, not with him acting almost normal. And he especially didn't want to talk about him dying. But it had been a while since Sam mentioned it and if he wanted to talk about it, Dean wasn't going to deny him that.

"How did you think it would end, Sammy?" he asked. It was a serious question. Dean had thought – always thought until a few months ago – that he would go down fighting. Alone, with Sam, with another Hunter, he didn't know. He just knew that Hunting would eventually kill him.

"Not like this," Sam said, drawing one hand over his face and then through his hair, which, despite the multiple rounds of chemo, was still present. "I don't know, Dean. For a while, I guess I thought I was going to die Hunting. I hoped and wished that I wouldn't but I could never seem to break out the loop of the job long enough to fully convince myself I wasn't going to be doing it forever. Then when I left and met Kat, I guess I started thinking I was going to live forever. Well, not forever but you know what I mean. I would have been happy to make it to fifty. I wanted to at least see Parker grow up."

"I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat," Dean said and the truth of it swung between them like a chain.

"I know you would."

"I'd give anything for you to see that kid grow up." When Sam turned to him, there were tears in his eyes.

"Want to know why I named him after you? I named him after the bravest, person I've ever known." Sam let the tears fall for another minute and them wiped them away while Dean pretended not to notice. When Sam was under control again, Dean simply said,

"Thanks, Sammy."

"All those times I walked out on you, all those things I said," Sam went on, "You know I didn't mean them, right? You know that I never wanted anyone else as a brother but you. Not even when I left."

"I know. There's nothing between us anymore, Sam. I promise. Hell, we're just two kids again playing with a different set of toys." Sam nodded.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you to do one thing after I'm gone?" Dean's throat tightened and his chest felt like it might cave in but he said,

"Of course."

"Will you please…will you look after them for me? I don't want you to keep cleaning up my messes but this is the last one and I can't die knowing that the things I left behind are going to fall apart."

"Nothing's going to fall apart," Dean said quietly. "I'll be here as long as they need me, okay? And if that's forever, then it's forever. But I would never leave your family, Sam. Never." Sam couldn't even respond, he just hung his hands between his knees and stared up at the sky. "And," Dean said after a minute. "I've never minded cleaning up your messes, Sam. Just for the record." Sam let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a sigh but he didn't say anything.

"And Dean? Don't give up on life after I'm gone. Go find one of your own, okay?"

Dean said nothing.

"Dean, promise."

"I promise, Sam."

The brothers sat together for a while longer, each wrapped up in their own thoughts of the coming future. For Sam, the thoughts were short and brief and they scared him a little. For Dean, it was the opposite. Everything was too open-ended, there were too many possibilities of the future and none of them contained the one thing his past always had. And that's what frightened him.

"You ready to head back?" Dean said after close to an hour had passed. Sam, who had been watching Bullet dig a hole under another picnic table, turned to Dean, a spark of old resilience and mischief in his expression.

"You know what I'd really like? I'd really like to shoot something."

* * *

Dean tried to convince him it was a bad idea. Hell, he didn't like anyone with a weapon unless it was himself, but there was no talking Sam out of it. For some reason that mystified Dean to his core, Sam – peacekeeper Sam – wanted a gun. And he wanted one now.

"Not a person," Sam had said. "I just want to shoot. One more time."

Dean the Hunter warred with Dean the Brother. Hunter Dean wanted to go shag a monster and let Sam go at it in a round of silver bullets and a spray of blood, to feel the power of fighting evil one last time. Brother Dean was horrified that Sam wanted to hold a gun at all, and that a cancer patient, a  _terminal_ cancer patient, probably shouldn't be given any kind of weapon.

But then regular old Dean saw the strength in Sam's eyes and the pride that was still hungering in him and he couldn't say no. So he gave Sam what he asked for.

He drove them a good thirty minutes out until they hit a field that was encompassed by an old wooden fence. Dean unlocked the trunk and let Sam pick his poison. He picked up a couple of Dean's semi-automatics and finally settled on a black Beretta 92. He palmed it for a minute, letting the weight and balance settle into his skin. They kept Bullet locked in the car as Dean took out a plastic bag of empty beer cans that were kept especially for this.

"No way can you tell Kat about this," Sam said when Dean came back from setting up the targets.

"Obviously," he said. "But on that note: you sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah, Dean. It's not some weird power trip or anything. I just spent so much of my life doing this and whether I like it or not, it's part of who I am." He shrugged and moved away with slow steps. Dean stayed behind, leaning on the Impala's trunk, watching.

The first crack had Bullet leaping into the front seat to stare out the window, her nose pressed against the glass like an eager child.

"If you rip my seats, I'll kill you," Dean told the dog. "In front of Sam. No mercy."

Another crack.

And another.

None of the cans had moved just like Dean knew they wouldn't. He'd seen the way Sam's hands quivered almost constantly. Sam wasn't going to hit any target but Dean wasn't about to tell that to the person with the pistol in his hand. Sam fired twice more before Dean pushed himself off the car, whistling on his way to his brother so he'd know he was coming. Hunters were jumpy things, no matter how retired they were.

"I can't do it," Sam said when Dean was standing next to him. It was the quiet admittance, the defeat that made Dean reach for the hand holding the gun.

"Yes, you can," he said, cozying up to Sam and raising Sam's arm so that the gun was pointed at a can about fifty feet away. Dean put his hand over his brother's fingers and could feel the muscle's twitching beneath his skin. No wonder Sam couldn't hit anything. There was barely room for both of their fingers on the trigger and since Sam was a good three or four inches taller than Dean it was a little awkward, but they made it work. It was how Dean had taught Sam to shoot when they were young.

John had taken the boys to Bobby's time and time again and let them go in the field, always trusting Dean to bring back Sam in one piece. Dean never questioned why he was teaching his ten-year-old brother to hold a gun; he was barely a teenager. Back then, Sam was tiny and Dean could wrap both arms around him from the back, holding the gun completely steady between all four of their hands.

"Feel it?" teenage Dean would say. "Feel the link from the nose of the gun," he ran one finger over the gun's spine and up Sam's arm, "all the way to your shoulder. It should be a tight line. Focus Sammy and aim. You can do it."

"Okay," Dean said now and together they pulled the trigger. The can flew into the air, spinning to the ground ten feet away from the fence. Dean felt a ripple of something pass through Sam and at first he thought his brother might be in pain but when he went to ask, he saw Sam was smirking. So they moved on to the next target.

Again, Dean positioned his arm close to Sam's, absorbing the tremors and putting his pointer finger over Sam's as they again pulled the trigger.

They repeated the process until all the targets had been blown off the fence.

It was a testament to how much had changed when Sam made no comment about the fact that his brother had just helped him shoot as if he were a child again. Maybe it was because Sam knew there was no way he could do it on his own and he wanted to accept the defeat with the dignity of silence. Or maybe it was just because the two of them were just as comfortable shooting with their bodies pressed against each other, two fingers on the trigger, as when they were shooting separately.

"That was great," was Sam's comment after Dean had collected the cans and was packing the trunk.

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," Dean said.

"Civilians go to the shooting range all the time," Sam said, as if asking Dean for target practice was what any normal person would do.

"You might have a wife and kid and a pretty house, Sam, but you're still not a civilian."

"I think dying of cancer has stripped any Hunter honor from me, Dean." If you didn't know Sam, you wouldn't detect the bitterness but Dean could hear it bubbling beneath the surface.

"That's what this is about?" Dean said, walking behind Sam as he slipped back into the passenger seat. Bullet jumped in the back as Dean climbed into his spot, but he held the keys in his hand, fiddling instead of putting them in the ignition. "Was this all some kind of test or whatever to prove you are still a Hunter? Eat burgers on the road, playing with firearms?"

"No!" Sam said but the challenge was weak. "No, I just -," He didn't have a good answer because he wasn't really sure what he was doing. Was he trying to play pretend like a child? To fit back into a role he outgrew years ago.

"I thought you hated being a Hunter."

"Well, yeah, at times it was pretty awful," Sam said.

"It ruined your life," Dean said and Sam recoiled.

"You think hunting ruined my life?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "You told me that. And besides, it was Yellow Eyes, and the demon blood, and Lilith, and Lucifer and the Trials and going to hell and losing your soul. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I know you didn't like being on the road in those crappy, cockroach infested motels. You didn't like the food or the music. You didn't like killing things. You didn't like all the opportunities it took away from you, like having a family and being normal." He tilted his head at his brother. "A civilian."

Sam stared at Dean, his heart thumping wildly from a mixture of shock and indignation and  _pain._ Pain of the physical kind but also there was a searing in his chest that wasn't at all related to the cancer as he watched Dean utter what he thought was the truth.

"Hunting  _didn't_  ruin my life," he stressed, wondering what he could say to make Dean see how wrong he was. "It changed it – a lot," he allowed. "And maybe back when I was twenty-two change meant the end of the world, but it doesn't, I know that now. Yeah, you named a lot of things that aren't exactly perks of the job but everything has its downside."

"Sam, Hunting killed you," Dean said, meeting his gaze without pause.

"No. Cancer killed me." Neither one of them acknowledged the shift from present tense to past. "Hunting might have saved me." Dean cocked his head, bewilderment starting to seep into his expression.

"Excuse me?"

"Okay, yeah, the demon blood and Ruby and Lucifer and the Trials were bad. But there was so much good to it. I know you love Hunting, Dean. You love the adrenaline and the power and the thrill of saving people, of doing the right thing. I liked those same things. All those lives we saved…it's the greatest thing I've ever done. And I know you disagree, but I think all those lives are a great trade for my single life. Who can say that? I think of all the people in the world who die for nothing and I thank God I'm not one of them."

Dean's voice was gruff when he asked,

"So, uh, you wouldn't do it differently if you could?"

"You mean Hunting? If I had the choice to live a normal life or the one I've already lived? No, I wouldn't do anything differently."

"Huh."

"I haven't even mentioned the best part of it all. I got to spend time with my big brother. You know, there are things I don't like about you Dean. The drinking and the women and the bad jokes," Sam cocked a smile, "But you're my family. And you were my only family for a long time. And I'm not going to forget that and all the good things we did together. I mean other than saving all the women and children and pretty much the whole world. It's things like the late night drinks and the pool hustling and the fact you're constantly making me laugh at things even when they shouldn't be funny."

Dean wasn't trying to hide the fact he was crying.

"You taught me so much, Dean. How to shoot and pick locks and care about the important things like never leaving anyone behind. You basically wrote the instruction manual on sacrifice and duty. Growing up with you has been one hell of an adventure and sometimes you sitting in the driver's seat made me feel like the most special person in the world. Because you were all mine. And despite all the things I've said to you, you're still the most real person I've ever met."

Sam deflated against his seat as if it had been the words that were holding him up and now that they were out, his strength had left him. He had said everything he wanted to and now he could only hope that Dean understood the meaning and importance of them.

"So, no, Dean. Hunting didn't ruin my life. It shaped it. You shaped it. And after that, can you blame me for wanting to come shooting with my big brother one last time?"

Dean couldn't remember the last time he cried this hard or this freely but he let the tears come as if they'd been waiting for this moment his whole life. Suddenly the Impala seemed too cramped and Sam's gaze on him was too heavy and Dean's chest was about to explode.

"I'll…be…right…back," he said between gasps, opening the door and almost falling onto the grass. Sam watched him stumble to the edge of the field and disappear into the trees beyond. Dean had left the keys on the seat and Sam scooped them up and stuck them in the ignition, muttering a thank you to the car when the heat came on. He was so cold and the day was catching up to him. He pulled the hood up on the sweatshirt and leaned his head against the window. Bullet worked her way to the front seat and lay across his lap, the warm weight of her body soothed his aching muscles.

"That's it, girl." Sam said. "That's all I have. I think I'm done." She whined and he felt her body give a shuddering sigh as he let himself relax.

Dean had stumbled into the woods, barely avoiding the trees and both hands gripped his hair tight, threatening to rip his scalp apart. But Dean hardly felt the pain as he finally hit his knees, rocking forward until his forehead hit the dirt.

Now he knew he couldn't do it. How could Sam confess all that stuff and then just leave Dean here alone? Didn't he know he was as good as killing Dean?

The eldest Winchester let out a strangled cry and sunk his hands into the ground, gripping at leaves and dirt until he felt his fingernails dig into his palms. The grief was overwhelming and Sam was still alive. Dean's shoulders as he cried out again, letting the sound rip from his lips like a wounded animal. He didn't want to be alive, not like this. His thoughts wandered to the trunk of the Impala, to the numerous knives and guns. To the sleeping pills Sam had up in the cabinet. They would make it so easy.

But then Dean thought of Sam's words about the kind of person Dean was and he thought that perhaps the dying man sitting in his car was the one who had just saved his life. Dean couldn't end his life; not when Sam still looked up to him so much. Not when Sam was depending on Dean after he was gone. Even though Sam wouldn't be here, that didn't mean Dean's job was over. There were still parts of Sam that needed to be protected: his family.

Sitting back on his heels, Dean vowed then and there that no matter how bad it got, he would find a way to survive this. Just like he found a way to survive everything is. This wasn't a Hunt, there no monster to kill, but it comforted Dean to know that there was a challenge awaiting him, a promise he couldn't break.

Sam was huddled deep in his sweatshirt when Dean got back to the car. His eyes opened when he heard Dean slide in.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Thanks Sammy, for saying all that. It means a lot." Sam smiled faintly, the exhaustion plain on his face.

"You're welcome."

"You cold?" Sam nodded. Dean grabbed a blanket from the trunk and tucked it around Sam, not even protesting when Bullet snuggled back on Sam's lap, her tail over Dean's legs as he drove them home. He called Kat on the way home.

"Hey," he said, voice hoarse from the screaming and the crying.

"Dean, where are you? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he said, glancing at the sleeping Sam. "Sam was hungry and wanted to go out to eat."

"What?"

"Yeah. He ate almost all of a burger."

"You've been gone three hours."

"He wanted to talk."

"About what?" Dean hesitated. "Never mind," she said a second later. "It's fine. I'm glad he finally talked to you. He's been wanting to do that."

"We'll be home soon," Dean promised. "I would have his meds ready." He paused, watching Sam's shallow breathing. "Kat, I think we're getting close to the end." The other end of the line was so quiet that Dean thought she had hung up and he pulled the phone away from his ear to check but they were still connected.

"I think so too," she whispered. "See you soon."

Sam was still sleeping when they pulled into the house forty minutes later. The Impala felt like the inside of a volcano; Dean was sweating through his shirt but when Dean went to wake his brother, Sam was shivering. A fever, then. Great. Probably from going outside and sitting in the cold air for hours. Not to mention being on his feet for more time than the past few days put together. But most of Dean wasn't at all sorry for today.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said. "We're home." He had a flashback to when Sam was small and John would scoop him up out of the backseat of the Impala and carry him into whatever motel they were staying at. Later, that became Dean's job.

"Bring your brother inside," John would say. "Don't wake him up."

"Sam, let's go inside," Dean said, letting Bullet out of the car. She waited patiently at the front door as Dean led Sam inside, supporting most of his brother's weight.

"Wait," Sam mumbled as Kat met them at the door to help. He twisted around to stare through dazed eyes at the car he had just exited. He seemed to be searching for something and when he finally found it, he met Dean's eyes and smiled. Dean gave him a tense smile for the sake of humoring his brother and getting him in the house but it seemed to satisfy Sam. He sagged between his wife and brother and followed them inside.

It was the last time Sam would ride in the Impala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, guys! Don't be afraid to let me know what you think :)


	21. Chapter 21

Dean's brother went downhill fast after that day. As soon as they got back, he fell asleep and didn't wake for eleven hours. Dean wanted to wake him just to make sure he could but Kat insisted that they let him sleep. They took turns sitting with him although usually it was Dean who occupied the chair beside the hospital bed as Kat was busy taking care of Parker and managing the house. Dean tried to help out when he could; he organized the meals in the fridge, did the dishes, even started putting Parker to bed so that Kat could have some time with Sam at the end of the day.

"Come here, little man," he said, swinging the toddler onto his shoulders. "Bathtime!" Sam was awake and Kat was settling into the armchair across from his bed, a stack of papers in her lap. She had been reading something to Sam lately but Dean didn't know what it was. He didn't think it mattered to Sam who calmed down listening to Kat's voice regardless of what she was saying. "Say goodnight to Daddy," Dean said, bending down so Parker could give his father a sloppy kiss.

"Night night, Daddy," he crowed. There were a couple plastic toys scattered on Sam's bed and Dean gathered them up with the hand that wasn't holding Parker.

"Night, buddy," Sam said, reaching up to squeeze the little boy's hand. He always looked sad when he talked to Parker these days, something Dean tried to ignore because if he didn't it would break his heart. He wished every night that Sam could be the one getting Parker ready for bed. Sam gave Dean a smile as he walked away and turned back to his wife who started speaking again in a low voice. Their murmurs carried until Dean shut the bathroom door.

"Spash time, 'ean!" Parker said, reaching for his bath toys as Dean started running the water. It flowed over his fingers until it was the right temperature and then he let the tub fill high enough to be fun but not with enough water to put the child in danger.

"Off with the clothes," Dean said, tugging off Parker's jeans as the toddler tried in vain to extract himself from his long sleeve shirt. He yelped as it got stuck around his head.

"Hold on," Dean said, laughing. "I've got you." A minute later, Parker was sitting in the water splashing away while Dean kneeled on a rug beside him. He was already almost as wet as his nephew and he knew from experience he'd have to change his clothes after this.

"Vroom, vroom," Parker shouted as he sped a plastic boat around him in a circle.

"Shhh," Dean said and the toddler cocked his head at him. "Daddy's tired," Dean explained. "We have to be quiet." Parker nodded with a serious look.

"Shhh," he mimicked, putting a little finger to his lips then smiled up at Dean.

The Hunter had been spending a lot more time with Parker. The boy was becoming attached to Dean too, following him around the house and repeating everything Dean said – or at least trying to. A few days ago, Dean had shut his finger in the Impala's door when he ran out to get something and, thinking he was alone, had sworn loudly. That was, until he heard the little voice behind him.

"Sonabish!" Dean whipped around to find the toddler standing in the doorway of the garage, clutching his miniature version of the Impala. He'd become more obsessed ever since Dean and Sam had taken him out for a ride. Parker was grinning like he just told the best joke in the world.

"No!" Dean said then lowered his voice. "Parker, never ever say that again." The child was still smiling, his father's mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Dean was going to have to be careful around the kid. If he was anything like Sam, he was going to cause a lot of trouble. He crouched in front of him and put on his best nice but stern face. He'd been practicing.

"Those are bad words," he said. "We can't say them anymore. Okay?" Parker had a curious expression on but he nodded and Dean held out a fist. He'd also been teaching the kid how to "pound it" and Parker thought it was the greatest thing in the world.

"Time for shampoo," Dean said, squeezing a dollop of the baby shampoo out onto his hand and rubbing it into Parker's hair. This nighttime ritual was actually kind of soothing and even though he'd been uncomfortable with the kid at first, now Dean looked forward to their nights together. Every once in a while he found himself wondering what it would be like to have his own kid. He'd been a father for a year and despite the not-hunting-restlessness that had filled him, Dean had enjoyed hanging out with Ben. They had gone on hikes and bike rides and he had showed Ben some minor mechanic work. But Dean couldn't help wondering what it would be like to raise a child from the time they were small, to have influence on every aspect of their life. That part scared him.

"Daddy's sick," Parker said out of the blue, scooping the bubbles out of the water. Dean froze in rinsing out his hair. They never talked about Sam being sick before but he knew the toddler understood something was wrong.

"Yes," Dean said.

"Lots sick," Parker said and Dean nodded.

"Is 'ean sick?" he asked seriously looking at his uncle. Dean tried to sound nonchalant.

"No, little man, I'm just fine."

"Mama?"

"No. Only Daddy's sick."

"When he gets better?" Dean swallowed. This was so not his job. He should let Kat handle this one. But what was he supposed to say in the meantime?

"I don't know," Dean said. "You should ask Mommy." Parker was quiet for a moment then,

"More bubbles 'ean!" Dean let out a breath and poured out more bubble bath, sitting back on his heels to watch Parker splash water all over the bathroom.

Once Parker was dressed in his pajamas and Dean had mopped up the biggest puddles, he let the toddler pick out a couple books and they sat in the rocking chair, Parker on Dean's lap curled against his chest like he used to curl up on Sam.

"Bedtime, kiddo," Dean said finally. He was tired himself; the words were starting to go blurry. He could only read about so many hungry caterpillars.

"No tired," Parker announced, sliding off Dean's lap. The two year old squeezed out the door before Dean could catch up with him and was sliding butt first down the carpeted stairs by the time Dean got to the hallway.

"Daddy!" Parker shouted, looking behind him to see how close Dean was. "Daddy!" Both Kat and Sam had been asleep, Kat in her chair, her papers in her lap. Bullet was under Sam's bed again, tucked away for the night but she raised her head to stare at Dean as the toddler ran forward. Kat woke first, eyes hazy for a second before her head cleared.

"You're supposed to be in bed, mister," she said. But Parker was clawing at the blankets on Sam's bed. Dean was reaching for him when Sam spoke,

"He's fine. Let him up."

"Are you sure?" Kat asked, biting her lip. "It's late, Sam. You should sleep."

"I will," he said. His eyes weren't open all the way but they were focused on his son. Dean put the child down on Sam's bed and immediately, Parker snuggled up to his father's side, sticking his thumb in his mouth and glaring at Dean. Two minutes ago, he'd been giggling in Dean's lap and now he was the bad guy. Maybe Dean didn't want kids after all.

"Daddy get better," Parker whispered, closing his eyes. Both Kat and Sam's gaze turned to Dean, who shrugged, trying to give off a helpless vibe.

"He started asking questions in the tub," Dean said. "He wanted to know if the rest of us are going to get sick. And he wants to know when Sam is going to get better. I didn't know what to say."

"I haven't even thought of explaining it to him," Kat whispered and she met Sam's eyes. It was a look attached with a silent conversation and Dean felt like an intruder.

"Call me if you need me," he said and Kat nodded. Dean left the room, looking back over his shoulder at the threesome. Sam's eyes were closed again and one arm was bowed around Parker, who appeared to be sleeping. Kat was watching both her boys and Dean walked away, not wanting to break the fragile aura of peace surrounding the tiny family. It wouldn't last.

* * *

 

"I hate daytime TV," Dean grumbled for the fifth time in less than ten minutes, flicking through the channels for the second time. He stopped on some game show but it was like he could feel his brain cells melting so he kept perusing.

"It's not going to change," Sam said. "Here, give that to me." He pointed to the remote. Dean pretended not to watch his brother as he focused on the channels but he didn't do a very good job of it.

"I can feel you looking at me," Sam said. Something was affecting the way he breathed now and each word took considerable effort to get out, his chest heaving up and down with each breath.

"Sammy, I think it's time to go to the doctor," Dean said. He'd been nagging Sam all morning, ever since Sam had woken up gasping for breath. It had taken efforts from both Dean and Kat to quiet him and make sure he wasn't going to hyperventilate to death. Kat had been just one button away from calling 911.

"No." Sam didn't move his eyes from the TV, which had landed on a channel Dean had somehow skipped; there was actually a semi-interesting show on.

"They could give you oxygen," Dean argued. "And then we'll come right back home." He wasn't so sure about the second part but he said it out loud as if he believed it. It was all about appearances.

"No, Dean," Sam said.

"I'm asking Kat when she comes back." A neighbor had popped by and insisted that Kat come for a walk with her. Dean had been happy to get Kat out of the house; she rarely even went outside anymore and he figured the autumn air would do her good. She'd taken Parker and Bullet, the latter had needed as much as convincing as Kat had and left the house dragging her paws.

"My chest is tight, that's it. If it's not better by tomorrow, I will voluntarily go to the hospital and get checked on."

"Really?"

"Yes. But for now, can I just have some of those pain meds?" Dean grimaced but went into the kitchen anyway. It went against all his basic instincts to let Sam stay at the house; if it had been just the two of them, he would have already hauled his brother's ass to the hospital. But he couldn't do that without talking to Kat. At the same time, Dean realized, as Sam had, that if he went to the hospital, he probably wasn't coming back. And it was the other part of Dean – the selfish part – that wanted to keep his brother away from that place as long as possible.

So Dean spent the day pretending he didn't hear the rattle of Sam's lungs. Sam had been sleeping heavily for weeks but today was different. Even with the high dose of pain medication, he was restless, tossing and turning so much that Bullet, who had crept onto the end of the bed, jumped off and crawled beneath the bed to keep watch from down there. Kat put Parker to bed that night and she came out to the living room dressed in her pajamas, gripping a cup of tea. She offered to make some for Dean but he shook his head.

"No, thanks."

"Did you eat today?"

"Not really. I had some of Sam's leftover crackers."

"Why don't I heat you up a plate? There's no point running yourself into the ground. I don't want you getting sick." Dean almost laughed at that.

"Thanks, Kat, but I'm okay. I think we should take him in tomorrow." She frowned at the change of topic but she wasn't going to convince Dean to do anything he didn't want to. It wasn't like she was eating a ton either. Her clothes were hanging loose on her these days but she figured there would be plenty of time to eat…later.

"I think so too." They both cringed as Sam gasped in before quieting again. "There's got to be fluid in his lungs. He must be so uncomfortable. We've got to get him on morphine or something."

"Tomorrow."

"Yeah. Parker's babysitter will be here at nine. We can take him then. The sooner the better."  
"He's not going to like it," Dean commented, imagining the fight Sam would put up when they talked to him.

"No, but I think he's done making the decisions." The comment stung Dean as if he was just now becoming aware of how much of Sam's life was in their hands. And for the first time, Dean was grateful toward Kat, relieved that there was someone to share this burden with. They both wanted the same things for Sam and they were both going to lose the same person and that had united them in an unlikely camaraderie. The two of them had become soldiers in this battle and though Dean had grown used to fighting solo, it was nice to have someone on his side for once. It also made dealing with Sam easier since Kat tended to back Dean up more often than not and vice versa.

"You're ganging up on me," Sam had complained a couple days ago and Dean had just smirked and folded his arms.

"Yes, we are."

But the two soldiers didn't have to wait until the morning before the next shot was fired.

* * *

Dean was lying on his stomach, flipping through a pile of magazines he had snagged from the counter in order to put himself to sleep by way of reading about gardening and toddler arts and crafts. There was an uneaten sandwich on the bedside table. He'd left Kat in the living room a couple hours ago and promised to come back in a while to take over so she could get some rest. He glanced at his watch. He still had two more hours. He should at least be able to get a nap in before then, but it was as if his only peace of mind existed in the living room. When Sam was out of sight, Dean grew too restless to do anything.

He heard her running down the hallway before his door was thrown open. Kat stood there in her pajamas, hair disheveled as if she had been sleeping on it. Her eyes were glassy with tears. Dean's heart leapt to his throat and he stood, the magazines sliding to the floor.

"What's the matter?"

"It's Sam," she said, out of breath. "He won't wake up." Dean was already out the door, and when he rushed into the living room, Sam lay on the bed, unmoving. He was on his back but slumped against his pillows in an unnatural way, one arm hanging over the side while the other was thrown across his chest. Bullet was standing by the bed, whining, her nose nudging Sam's still fingers.

"No, no, no," Dean said. "Sammy!" He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder to shake him but his brother's skin was so hot, Dean reflexively pulled away. "Sammy!" Sam didn't move; it was as if he was already dead. Dean felt the fear and horror crawl up his spine. He turned to Kat.

"Call 911!" She ran from the room and Dean turned back to Sam.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said. "This is ridiculous. You can't go like this. I didn't get to say goodbye, you bastard." Sam's hair was soaked with sweat when Dean pushed it away from his neck. Instead of the great gulps of air he'd taken earlier, now his chest moved in shallow dips.

"Dean?" Kat was standing at his shoulder.

"Did you call?" She nodded, taking Sam's hand and her shoulders shook as she let out a sob.

"Dean, I can't do this," she said through the crying. "What if…"

"Hey," Dean said sharply. "Don't think like that. We're going to get him to the hospital and he'll be fine." She let out another sob, gripping Sam's hand tighter. "Kat," Dean said firmly, taking charge. It was useful to have something to do, someone to take care of in situations like this. "What about Parker? Who is going to stay with him?" She didn't lift her eyes from Sam.

"Call the neighbors."

He found the list of phone numbers tacked to the side of the fridge. Dean leaned heavily on the counter, pressing his palms to his eyes until he saw bright spots. He wasn't ready. Not ready to say goodbye, not ready to let go.

He picked up the phone and called the number of a woman who checked in on the family often and sometimes took Parker out for ice cream. Three minutes later, there was a knock on the front door and when he opened it, he could hear sirens in the distance. They were coming for Sammy.

"Thank you for coming," he said to Angela, who was wearing a bathrobe over a tank top and a pair of jeans. She was a widow, maybe ten or fifteen years older than himself but tonight she looked much younger.

"It's no problem, Dean. I told you guys to call anytime," she said, stepping into the house. She walked with purpose towards Parker's room, stopping to give Kat a quick hug and murmur something in her ear. The ambulance was nowhere in sight so Dean headed back toward Sam.

He was intercepted in the hall by Bullet, who wove herself around his legs like a cat. He almost tripped over her and had to grab the wall to keep from hitting the floor.

"Dammit," he said, grabbing the dog by her collar. She yelped as he dragged her into Parker's room where Angela was holding the sleepy toddler.

"'Ean," he mumbled, reaching for his uncle.

"Shh," Angela said as Dean backed out of the room and shut the door on them. By that time, the sirens were closer and he went back to the front door, the neighborhood lit up in streaks of blue and red as the ambulance raced to the house. Three paramedics jumped out, carrying a gurney between them.

"It's my brother," Dean said as they rushed up the drive. "He's unconscious and he won't wake up." One of the paramedics briefly put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"It'll be okay, sir."

 _It won't_ , Dean thought, watching them crowd around his brother. Kat backed against the wall, reciting Sam's medical history to the same paramedic who had spoken to Dean. Dean felt as if he was watching through a telescope, the scene in front of him strangely distant and distorted. So many times Dean had witnessed an unconscious Sam, an injured Sam, even a dead Sam. But none of it had caused this much dread, this bitter taste that filled his mouth. Was Dean ready to say goodbye, if it came down to it? He'd have to be. God, there were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he had to clear up and apologize for. Thirty-three years worth of sorries.

They had an oxygen mask over Sam's face and Dean watched it fog up with his brother's breath. Dean's arms were folded tight over his chest as they carried Sam past him, strapped to the gurney like it was a torture table. Images of Sam chained to the bed in Bobby's panic room flashed in Dean's vision. No doubt the demon blood withdrawal had weakened Sam all those years ago, had left him weak for the trials, which had left him weak for life, giving the cancer a prime opportunity to attack.

And all of it was Dean's fault. Maybe he'd been wrong to rip Sam away from his psychic abilities. He thought he'd been doing what was right for his brother but perhaps he had been too single-minded. He should have considered what it would do to Sam later on in life. Dean thought of what John had told him just minutes before he collapsed to his death.

_If you can't save your brother, you're going to have to kill him._

Back then, Dean had thought he had heard wrong, that maybe his head was messed up from the accident. But the look in his father's eyes, the intense sadness and resignation was real.

 _I'm sorry I couldn't save you_ , he thought, watching Sam being loaded into the ambulance, Kat jumping in beside him, glancing back at Dean as the doors shut and the vehicle raced off, sirens splitting the night in fragments.


	22. Chapter 22

The hospital was busy even in the dead of night and Dean had to wait ten minutes before they would even tell him where Sam was.

"Dean!" Kat came out a pair of double doors, a hospital robe wrapped around her, a cup of coffee in her hand. Some color had returned to her cheeks which an hour before had been the color of uncooked rice.

"How is he?" Dean asked.

"They got him stable. It was another infection; his temperature shot up again and…" she shrugged, at a loss for words.

"Good," Dean said. "Stable is good." He glanced around the waiting room. A woman sat in the corner, her head in her hands. An elderly couple sat closest to Dean; the husband was clutching his wife's hands as her head lay on his shoulder. The man stared at Dean but Dean had a feeling he wasn't the object of the man's attention. That kind of look was reserved for someone living in their own personal hell. He knew the feeling well.

"When can we see him?"

"The doctors said they'd come get us." She glanced at her wrist but it was bare and she sighed in frustration. "I forgot my phone at home too. I barely remembered to put on shoes."

"Here," Dean said, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Use mine."

"Thanks," she said. "I'm going to check in with Angela and make sure Parker's okay." She hesitated, still holding the phone away from her. "Is there…is there anyone you need to call?"

"No," said Dean and only after thought of contacting Kevin. Maybe Garth. But what was the point? They couldn't do anything to help.

He took a seat across from the elderly couple, who had since been joined by a young boy about the age of five. He was lying on his stomach at their feet, rolling a plastic fire truck back and forth. He looked up when Dean sat down.

"Hi," he said, sitting up.

"Hey," Dean said, voice hoarse from worry. The little boy glanced up at the couple, his grandparents, Dean assumed. They didn't even notice.

"Are you hurt?" the boy asked, watching Dean with eyes the color of dark chocolate. He was wearing spider-man pajamas and his hair was tangled as if he had been snatched right from his bed.

"No," Dean said. "I'm fine."

"Me too. But my Mom isn't." Dean glanced at his grandparents but the woman's eyes were closed and the man seemed just shy of comatose. "She was in an accident."

"I'm sorry," Dean said. The little boy stared and crawled closer to Dean, knees sliding easily on the waxed floor. He stopped just shy of Dean's boots. The tangled hair was in desperate need of a trim; he brushed it away impatiently when it fell in front of his face.

"Why are you here?"

"Joey!" The old man had finally noticed his wandering grandson. "I'm sorry," he said to Dean. "Joey, get back over here."

"It's okay," Dean said without knowing exactly why he said it. "I don't mind." And he didn't, really. Joey reminded Dean of Sam in a way that both hurt and lifted Dean's heart. The man gave Dean a skeptical look but said nothing else. Joey turned back to Dean.

"So why are you here?" Dean almost smiled at his persistence. Sam had been the same way when was little. He always had more questions than Dean had answers.

"My brother is real sick," Dean said.

"Oh," Joey said, running the fire truck over the palm of his hand. "I'm sorry," he said, mimicking Dean from moments ago.

"Thanks," Dean said. "That's a pretty awesome truck you have." Joey grinned and stood, placing the toy on Dean's knee.

"I got it for my birthday. Jason has one just like it."

"That's cool. Is Jason your friend?" Joey gave Dean a look.

"No, he's my brother," he said in a tone that said Dean should already know this. "He just turned three last week," he continued proudly. "I got him a toy helicopter."

"Very cool," Dean said and Joey beamed, pleased to have Dean's approval. Joey lowered his voice to a whisper again, standing on tiptoe to get closer to Dean's ear. Dean leaned down to help out and felt the child's warm breath tickle his skin.

"I'm glad Jason wasn't in the car with Mommy." He pulled away with such a serious look that Dean struggled to breathe evenly.

"I'm sure your Mom will be fine," he said. There was a lump the size of golf ball lodged in his throat, making it hard to speak above a whisper. Joey shrugged and sat back down, rolling his fire truck over Dean's shoe. Now Dean wasn't looking at Sam but a younger version of himself. Since Sam was born, there'd been an innate protective feeling inside Dean that only intensified after the fire. The boy in front of him was so serious and sure of himself that Dean couldn't help but think this was what he was like as a child. It had been a long time since Dean prayed but he sent a message out then and there, wishing beyond belief that this little boy's mother was going to be okay.

"Is there anyone here for Sam Winchester?" Dean stood, almost clocking Joey in the face with his knee. The boy scrambled backward. Dean glanced at the doctor then knelt down to Joey's level.

"I've gotta go," he said. "But you take care of your brother, okay? No matter what, take care of him." Joey puffed out his chest and stuck out of his chin.

"I will. I promise."

"Good boy," Dean said, tousling his already knotted hair.

"Dean, Kat," Dr. Jones said as they joined him in the front corner of the waiting room. "I'm sorry to see you again. I'm afraid I don't have good news. We managed to get Sam stable and he's resting now. He had a high temperature due to an infection in his blood and there's the start of fluid buildup in his lungs. We ran some tests when he got in." He paused and Dean felt like he was sitting in a courtroom, waiting for the verdict on his brother's life. "I'm so sorry but the cancer has spread, like we discussed that it might."

"He's not going to be okay?" Dean interrupted. He just wanted to hear it said once. Just to make sure that this wasn't some nightmare his brain had cooked up for it's own delight.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said again. "But all we can do now is make him comfortable." Dean stepped away, locking his fingers behind his head so he wouldn't punch something. He turned away just as Kat whispered,

"How long?"

"A week or two maybe but you should prepare yourselves for less." Dean felt his heart give and the only thing that kept him from shouting into the doctor's face was the fact Kat had gone completely pale and was swaying as if there were a breeze. Afraid she was going to pass out, Dean went and put a hand on her back.

"If there is anything we can do for you during this time, please come to us," the doctor said and Dean wanted to spit in his face.

_You were supposed to save him._

"Can we see him?" Kat asked, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her fingers were clenching Dean's so tightly he could feel his bones grating together.

"Of course," the doctor said. "Come with me."

They had Sam sat up in a single, corner room with a glass window so that Dean could see his brother as he walked down the hallway. He was just as still as he had been back at the house but now there were tubes up his nose and wires sprouting from his skin.

"Go ahead," Dean said to Kat, nodding her inside. "I'll wait out here for a bit." She didn't even question it; she just let go of his hand and walked into the room. Dean sunk into a plastic chair sitting in the hallway.

"Please come find me if you have any questions, Mr. Winchester," the doctor told him before turning and leaving. It was three in the morning. Just a week ago, Sam had been a walking, talking human being with a gun in his hand. Now he was lying in a hospital bed that he would never leave. Dean thought he would be ready for when the time came; he had spent days if not weeks talking himself up to this point.

But now, sitting inside the white walls with nurses and doctors walking past him, Dean had never felt so underprepared in his life. He knew how to kill a vampire, he could take out a werewolf with a single bullet, and he had ganked more demons than he could count. But goddammit, there was something about sitting in a hospital that unhinged everything inside him. From the time he was a small child, Dean had seemed to tread in the footsteps of Death's shadow.

* * *

 

"Daddy, when are we going home?" Four-year-old Dean wanted to know.

"We're not going home," John had said. Sam was snuggled in John's arms and Dean kept peering at the infant to make sure he wasn't fussing. He hated when Sam cried.

"Ever?" Dean asked in disbelief. John shook his head, too lost in his own grief to try and cushion the blow.

"Daddy?"

"What, Dean?" There was just a touch of the impatience in his voice, the impatience that would blossom into irritation then indifference as Dean grew older. Before the fire, he had spent hours answering his son's questions.  _Daddy, why is Sam so small? Daddy, why does the moon only come out at night? Daddy, will I always be a big brother?_ Now, the child's persistence was annoying and grating against John's constant headache.

"Where's Mommy? I'm hungry."

"Dean," John said in a voice that made Dean stop playing with the toy car a neighbor had given him this morning. He had been running it over the small table in the hotel that was already brimming with gifts from people who felt sorry for the Winchesters. Dean had never heard his dad say his name like that and it scared him. John leaned forward, careful to keep a tight grip on the infant in his arms. He stopped only a foot or so away from Dean's face.

"Listen to me. I'm only going to say this once. Your mother is gone and she's never going to come back, okay?" Terrified, Dean nodded. "Never ask me that question again."

Dean was only four years old when his daddy became his father.

* * *

 

He waited until Kat came out of the room about an hour later before he stood again. She wasn't crying anymore but she looked the same kind of exhausted that had settled in his bones.

"I've got to go back to the house," she said, wrapping her arms around herself, as if she'd fall to pieces without them in place. "My mother's going to come stay with us for a bit. To help watch Parker."

"She can have my room," Dean offered. "I'll move to the living room."

"No, it's fine," she said. "She'll sleep with me. I don't want you on the couch."

"Are you sure, Kat? I'd be fine on the floor honestly." He didn't want to say that he didn't plan on going home anytime soon so it didn't matter if he had a bed or not.

"I'm sure. She'll be here in the morning."

"Do you want me to go back instead?" Dean asked even though he couldn't imagine walking away from Sam. He tried not to show his relief when she shook her head.

"No." Kat bit her lip, looking back at Sam through the window. "I need to be with Parker right now. You'll stay with Sam?"

"Yes," Dean said, never so sure of anything in his life. "I'll call you if anything changes."

"Thanks, Dean," she said, reaching up to give him a hug. "I'll let you know when I'm on my way back although it probably won't be until tomorrow. Don't forget to eat," she reminded him as he handed her the keys and said okay. Dean's stomach was rolling like the ocean on a stormy day but he promised he would find something to eat as soon as he got hungry.

Sam was lying in the hospital with his eyes closed, the bed slightly propped up. Dean let his eyes wander to the numerous machines surrounding his brother and stood at the foot of the bed trying to take it all in.

"Oh, Sammy," he muttered. At this point, it felt like there was nothing left of Dean. He was just so fucking tired of it all. Sam might be on his way out now but Dean had been grieving for weeks and the process had left him numb. The door opened and he expected to see Kat but it was just a nurse. She was middle-aged with glossy brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She smiled at Dean with more enthusiasm than he had in the nail of his pinky finger.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Charlotte. I'll be Sam's nurse most nights."

"Hey," Dean replied, surprised to find the word came out more as a croak. Charlotte went to Sam's bedside, checking the machine methodically one by one.

"Are you family?"

"He's my brother." She turned to him.

"You're Dean?"

"How'd you know?" She tilted her head at Sam.

"He was mumbling your name a little while ago after they brought him back from the MRI."

"He was awake?"

"Not really." Charlotte's voice dipped and softened. She left Sam's side and came to stand in front of Dean. "Dean, your brother isn't going to have very many lucid moments left. He'll probably be sleeping most of the time."

"I know," Dean said roughly, backing away before she could reach out a comforting arm.

"My point is that even if he isn't awake, it won't hurt to talk to him. Often, the unconscious patient can hear family members speaking to them." When Dean didn't respond, she left him alone, closing the door behind her. Dean sat down in the armchair beside the bed.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Sammy," he said, feeling stupid for talking to his brother while he was asleep. Still, if there was a chance Sam could hear him…Dean didn't want his brother to think he was alone. "But I just wanted to let you know what was going on. You wouldn't wake up so we had to bring you to the hospital. Kat had to go home and take care of Parker but she'll come back in the morning. First thing, I bet. Her mom is going to come stay with us to help out. So you don't have to worry. Maybe if you're feeling up to it in a couple days, Parker can come visit. You'd like that, right?"

Dean's vision blurred between the tears and the exhaustion and all of a sudden he wasn't staring at thirty-three-year old Sam but Sam the child. For a moment he was just the kid who had tagged along after Dean for years, glued himself to Dean's side while John was gone on hunts.

When Sam was thirteen, someone at school gave him a hand-me-down skateboard and even though they were supposed to stay inside and out of sight, Sam spent hours riding it around the parking lot of their motel. Dean stayed in the room, glancing over local police reports in hopes of finding a case to work on. At seventeen, John was letting Dean in on more of the action instead of constantly leaving him behind to take care of Sammy. He depended on Dean for research now. Dean glanced out the window every now and then to make sure Sam hadn't disappeared but his brother was always in view, one foot brushing against the ground to gain speed before gliding and turning around the parking lot.

"Sam!" Dean yelled after a couple hours. "Let's go get dinner, I'm starving." Sam turned and held up one finger to his big brother. He shouted across the pavement,

"Dean, watch!" He put his right foot to the ground, speeding up. Dean grinned. He had had a skateboard once but it got left behind when they had to duck out of a motel in the middle of the night. Maybe when Sammy was done, he would let Dean give it a go once or twice. But his happiness was short lived. His enjoyment flashed to instant horror as he realized what Sam was about to do.

The kid was heading toward an old metal railing that ran along one end of the motel. It was only about three feet from the ground but there was no way Sam was good enough to make that jump with so little practice.

"Sam, stop!" Dean shouted. But Sam was already in midair; the shout only distracted him. Wide-eyed, he turned to Dean, shooting a grin at his older brother as the skateboard hit metal. The skateboard glided for a second and Dean thought maybe his brother was going to pull this off. Then Sam's balance wavered, the board tilted beneath his feet, and he went down.

It wouldn't have been a bad fall if Sam's head hadn't connected solidly with the railing as he fell. Dean's insides froze at the exact moment his brother's body hit the ground; Sam didn't move. Dean had no memory of sprinting across the parking lot but he found himself kneeling beside Sam's body.

"Sammy!" he cried, hands hovering over his brother. John's voice was in his head:  _Don't move them if there could be serious injury._  A head wound was serious, right? One of Sam's cheeks was pressed into the pavement and there was blood running from a cut in his forehead. Carefully, with trembling fingers, Dean pressed two fingers and searched for a pulse. He almost collapsed with relief when he found one. "Sam," he moaned. "Sam, Sam, Sam." More training kicked in and he sprinted to a pay phone about fifty feet away.

"911. What is your emergency?" Dean glanced at Sam's prone figure; the skateboard was yards away. From here, he could see blood smeared on the railing.

"I need an ambulance. It's my brother."

* * *

 

The wound hadn't been that bad – head injuries always bled a lot, the doctor explained to a fidgeting Dean.

"Your brother will be fine, Dean," the doctor cajoled. "We patched him up with seven stitches and he has a concussion so we have to keep him overnight."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. I just wanted to ask if one of your parents is around?" If Dean had been paying attention, he would have noticed the doctor eyeing his ratty coat and even rattier jeans. There was a hole in his boots that he had fixed with duct tape. He looked one step away from homeless but then again, he hadn't planned on going out in public today.

"My dad has been away on business but he's coming home. I called him when we got here."

"Okay," the doctor said, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean wanted to reach behind the doctor, wrap his arm around that white-coated shoulder and break his arm but instead, he just smiled tightly and nodded.

"Can I see Sam now?"

Sam was sitting up in bed, flicking through the TV channels. There was a white bandage wrapped around his head like a turban and some of his hair was sticking up.

"Dean!" he said happily, putting down the remote. "About time!"

"Sammy," Dean said. "How are you doing?" Sam rolled his eyes, looking adorable but also absurdly young.

"I'm fine. I told them to let me go but they said I have to stay here."

"Well, you banged your head pretty good. They must have given you some nice drugs if you're feeling so good." Sam picked up his left arm, the one with the IV attached. Curled in his fingers was a pain pump, his thumb on the button.

"The nurse gave me one of these and said to hit it whenever my headache came back."

"Sam, I'm so sorry," Dean said, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees.

"For what?"

"I should have been watching you more closely. I can't believe you tried to do that trick." Sam shrugged then winced. Dean used a hand to push Sam back onto the pillows and he knew Sam must be in pain when he didn't try to fight Dean off. Dean pulled up the blanket.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam said. "Don't tell Dad it was your fault. It was just an accident."

 _There are no accidents_ , John's voice said in Dean's head. He smiled at Sam as the boy's eyes closed but the minute he was asleep, he walked into the hall, dropping a quarter into a payphone.

"Dad?"

"How's Sam?"

"He's fine, Dad. He has a concussion and some stitches but the doctor said he can leave tomorrow. Are you really coming home?"

"Of course. I'm about three hours away."

"What about the case?"

"Dean, your brother is spending the night in the hospital. I'm coming home."

"Okay, see you when you get here. We're at St. Luke's."

"Call me if there's any change." The line went dead.

Dean spent that night watching Sam's every breath, making sure he was right at his side when he woke every few hours from the pain. He was much better by morning but Dean would never forget John's disappointed stare as he helped Sam get ready to go.

"We'll talk later," he mouthed over Sam's head and Dean headed into the hall. There would be more than talking later, John would make sure of that.

* * *

"Dean?" A whisper of all things brought Dean out of the memory and when he blinked, Sam was full grown again and peering at him with half-opened eyes.

"Sam! I can't believe you're awake. I didn't think – never mind."

"Where are we?" Sam asked. "Are we in heaven? Did the summoning spell go wrong?"

"What?" Dean shook his head. "No, we're in the hospital." Sam blinked, glancing away from Dean around the room, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"Why? Was it the Trials? Did I pass out again?" Dean was beginning to realize what the nurse had said about lucid moments. The cancer must have scrambled Sam's brain.

"No," Dean said, choosing each word carefully. "You're sick, that's why we're in the hospital. You, uh, you don't hunt anymore."

"What? Is this the future or something? Did Cas zap us here?" Dean winced, wondering if it really mattered what he told Sam at this point.

"No, Sam. You left Hunting about three and a half years ago. You're married now and you have a kid, a little boy." Sam's eyes widened and as weak as he was, he tried to sit up. "Hey, easy!" Dean said, putting a restraining hand on Sam's arm. His brother's skin was still too warm.

"I have a kid?" The news was freaking Sam out and Dean made quick decision.

"I'll explain everything when you're better," he said. "You'll be fine." Sam looked at him as if he knew Dean wasn't being truthful but then he relaxed back into his pillows.

"Okay," Sam said. "Promise?"

"Of course, Sammy," Dean said. "I promise.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean sweet-talked Charlotte into giving him an extra blanket and pillow. Sam had fallen back asleep ages ago and Dean sat watching him, feeling that if he took his eyes off his brother, something would go wrong. He wiped sleep from his eyes, wondering what his father would say if he could see Dean right now. He'd be so disappointed in Dean, his screw-up son. Dean had one job, just one in the entire world and that was to protect Sammy. That's what big brothers were supposed to do. And he'd screwed up more times than he could count. Screwed up the one thing that was supposed to be his salvation. He would burn in hell for eternity for this.

There was a knock on the door and he heard it open without looking over. The nurses were always coming in and out, poking and prodding Sam, drawing blood, reading the enigmatic machines that whirred and beeped beside him.

"Dean." His blood froze in his veins; it was as if a barrel of ice water had been poured over his head. He hadn't heard that voice in…

"Mom?"

Mary Winchester stood in the doorway, dressed not in the white nightgown she had died in but in an old flannel shirt and a faded pair of jeans. It was an outfit Dean remembered her wearing around the house on Saturdays or what she called "fix-it" days because that's the day when they were stroll around the house looking for projects to complete: a jammed window or a squeaky door. When she looked at him, her lips curved into a soft smile and her eyes lit up.

All of a sudden Dean wished for some holy water or Ruby's knife that was tucked under his mattress back at the house.

"You're not real," he said, standing up and moving to the end of Sam's bed to guard his brother. She gave a laugh that sounded like a song.

"I'm no demon," she said. "That's for sure. As for whether I'm completely real or not," she gave a light shrug, "that's up for you to decide. Do I feel real to you, Dean?"

He didn't know how to answer that. She took a step inside the room and let the door close behind her. Ghosts couldn't open doors.

"It's really you," he whispered, unable to look away. She was beautiful, more beautiful than his best memory of her. Her blonde hair curled slightly against her shoulders, her nails were painted a soft pink.

"I knew you hadn't forgotten me," she said, reaching out. He almost jumped when her hand – her warm hand – laid on his arm but then he found himself leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering closed just for a moment as he gave in to the one thing he wanted most.

His mother.

One second she was touching his arm and the next she had gathered his tall frame into a hug.

"It's okay, baby," she whispered in his ears. "Mama's here." The words were ridiculous but Dean melted against her, wrapping his arms around her solid frame. For once he didn't question how any of this was possible. Dean's chest ached as he remembered what it felt like to be loved again – truly loved. So few in his life had given this gift to him. His mother. Lisa. Sam. A tear dripped onto Mary's shirt.

She held him for a long time and when she finally pulled away, he saw the glimmer of sadness in her eyes too. She gave him another smile, a reassuring one that told him everything was going to be okay and then she moved past him. Dean watched her approach the bed, heard her tiny moan as she gazed at her youngest child. He felt as though he was witnessing something he shouldn't and wondered for a moment if he should step out of the room. But he couldn't bring himself to leave her, couldn't even bring himself to look anywhere else but at her so he stayed where he was. Watching.

She sank into the chair he had just occupied and reached out a hand to stroke Sam's cheek. "My little soldier," she heard her murmur. "You've been so brave." Sam didn't wake. The tears had left her eyes now and fell fast, staining her cheeks. It hurt Dean to watch something so beautiful be so terribly sad.

"Mom," he said hoarsely. "Mom, I'm so sorry." When she turned to him, there was no anger, no blame in her gaze as he thought there might be. As there should have been.

"It's all my fault," he explained, gesturing to Sam. "I was supposed to look after him and I…" He trailed off, letting his gaze slip to his brother and the horror and futility of the situation washed over him anew.

"No, Dean," Mary said, turning back to Sam and entwining her fingers in his. Her tone was calm. "This isn't your fault." He walked over to join her and stared down at the body of his brother. All he ever wanted was a good life for Sammy. Dean would have gladly traded places with him at any moment. He would have done anything to take away Sam's pain.

"It is," he said. "You don't know – you don't know what it's been like."

"You don't think I've been watching?" With her other hand, she grabbed Dean's and held it tight.

"So many things have gone wrong."

"But you never stopped trying, Dean. And that's the most important thing. That's all that mattered. You never gave up on Sam. That's more than I could have ever asked for." She was still holding both their hands and for the first time in years, Dean felt whole. The brokenness of his family, all the death and the lies faded away. Mary was the one bringing them together again. She was giving Dean one last gift. She was giving Sam back to him.

His mother stood, leaning over Sam and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," Mary whispered and then she turned to Dean.

"I'm so proud of you," she said. "For everything. For taking care of Sam. For fighting. For always being brave. I want you to know that." He nodded. She glanced back at Sam and then said, "Your job is almost over, Dean. But take care of him until the end. He needs to know that you're here for him."

"Of course," Dean whispered. "Of course I will." Mary reached up and tousled his hair as if he were four years old again.

"My handsome boy," she said and then was gone.

 


	24. Chapter 24

Dean woke up cold and with a stiff neck. He groaned and stretched, wincing when his spine popped against the back of the chair. He glanced around and realized that the blanket he had fallen asleep under was flung across the end of Sam's bed as if Dean had woken and thrown it off. But he hadn't woken up, had he? A glance at his watch told him he'd been asleep for four hours; it was almost seven in the morning. Something felt off though; his skin was tingling with something like foreboding. What was wrong? For a moment he watched the door in a mix of confusion and apprehension, convinced something was going to come bursting in.

And then he remembered.

He looked quickly to Sam who was still sleeping undisturbed. It must have been a dream, he thought. A good dream. Dean didn't usually have good dreams. Any given night they were filled with visions of death and destruction, visions of his time in Hell, the months he had spent in Purgatory.

Except for last night. He remembered everything, every detail, every word.

_You never gave up on Sam. That's more than I could have ever asked for. I'm so proud of you. I want you to know that._

It had felt so real. As if she really had come through that door.

"Mom?" he whispered, looking around and feeling only a little foolish when nothing happened. It had been a dream.

Sam stirred and Dean refocused his attention on his brother.

"Dean?" Sam said groggily, eyes closed. He tried to shift in bed and winced.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm right here," he said.

"Mmm," his brother said, still trying to wake up. "Were you talking to someone?" Dean couldn't help it; he glanced around the room again.

"No," Dean said. "There's no one here but me." Sam's chest lifted in a heavy sigh.

"I'm glad you stayed," he murmured, his voice so soft Dean couldn't be sure he heard him correctly."

"Yeah," Dean said.

_Your job is almost over, Dean. But take care of him until the end. He needs to know that you're here for him._

Sam was falling asleep again, Dean could tell, but he let himself say,

"I'm here as long as you are, buddy. I'm not going to leave."

* * *

"I need to talk to Bobby," Sam announced.

"You can't," Dean said flatly. They had had the same conversation yesterday.

"Why not?" Sam wanted to know. His eyes were out of focus; Dean had no idea what his brother was actually seeing. It wasn't a hospital room, that was for sure.

"He's on a hunt." Yesterday, he had tried to explain that Bobby had died years ago from a gunshot wound by Dick Roman. The news had made Sam go ballistic and he'd tried to drag his body out of bed as Dean called for the nurse, who hurried in armed with a sedative.

Now, Dean swatted Sam's hand away, which often drifted to pick at his IV. It was only a matter of time before the nurses noticed and strapped his wrists to the bed. Or started sedating him all the time.

It had been like this for five days. Sam had never quite woken all the way up since the night the ambulance came for him. When he was conscious, he was confused and disoriented, always asking questions about Hunting and the other Hunters, some of whom had been dead for years.

"Hey boys," Kat said, coming in the room, eyes going immediately to Sam and then to Dean when she saw her husband was awake. She dropped the McDonalds bag in the chair by the door.

"Hi," Sam mumbled, fingers held down by Dean's hand. "Babe, did I ever tell you about Bobby?" Sam loved to tell Kat about Hunting. The cancer seemed to have eaten away the secretive part of him, had opened the locked door he had refused to even look at for the past three years. She glanced at Dean who shook his head and let go of Sam's hand, watching to make sure he didn't try digging at the tubes again. But Sam's attention was elsewhere now. "Did I?"

"No," Kat said. "If so, I don't remember. Tell me again." Sam launched into a heroic description of their quasi-father, detailing a time that either didn't happen or one Dean had no recollection of.

"Remember when Bobby took us horse back riding?" Sam asked, cheeks flushed with a fever that wouldn't go away. Dean almost wished he would just hit the pain pump that lay near his hand so he would knock himself out.

"Sure," Dean said. Sam fell quiet again, lost in the scramble of his mind. The last time he had been lucid enough to halfway comprehend what was going on was two days ago. He had woken up that morning asking for Parker and after getting permission from his doctor, Kat's mother, Barbara, had brought the child in.

When their time together was over, Kat had scooped the little boy in her arms. Hanging on the walls were drawings that Parker had done for his father. "That's you," he had said, pointing to a circle with two dots in it connected to a line next to a smaller model. "And me."

"Say goodbye to Daddy," Kat said, letting Parker lean over the bed to hug his father for the last time.

"Bye, Daddy!" he trilled, waving. "I wuv you."

"Love you too, buddy," Sam said, the words a whisper behind the lump in his throat. He turned his head against his pillow but he could still his son talking down the hall.

"Mama, we gets ice cweam."

"You did?"

"Yeah and Nana says…" his voice trailed off and a single tear slid down Sam's cheek.

"You want to be alone?" Dean asked, who had been hanging out in the corner of the room watching. Sam nodded. By the time Dean wandered back into the room again, his brother was asleep.

People and dates were getting lost in his brother's head. He recognized Kat less than half the time and forgot the various nurses every time they turned around. Even Dr. Jones seemed to be a foreign face. But the more Sam started to slip away from everyone else, the tighter he held onto Dean. Dean had only left the hospital three times since they brought Sam in a week ago and each time he had showered, grabbed some food and returned. He tried to leave while Sam was sleeping; otherwise his brother started panicking. The third time, Sam was awake when Dean got back, hair still wet, a warmed up container of lasagna in his hand. It was five in the morning and Kat was at home sleeping.

"You left," accused Sam as Dean crept in. The hurt in his eyes made Dean's heart skip a beat.

"I know, Sammy, but I came right back. I had to shower. You okay?"

"Dad would not be happy," Sam murmured, watching the wall behind Dean. "He will not be happy."

"He'll be fine," Dean promised. Besides Bobby, Sam often lapsed into the thinking that John was alive, out hunting. Dean was pretty sure Sam was convinced the two of them were teenagers again, holed up in some back road motel room.

"I won't tell," Sam said. "I won't tell that you left me." Dean took a deep breath.

"Thanks, Sammy. Knew I could count on you." Sam's eyes were still daggers underneath the haze of morphine.

"Don't do that again," he warned.

"I won't," Dean said.

"Are you going on a hunt?" he asked a moment later, eyeing Dean.

"Nope," Dean said, sitting beside the bed and opening the lasagna.

"Dad might need your help."

"But I can't leave you, remember?" Dean said, shoving pasta in his mouth to keep his voice steady. "You just told me not to." Sam mulled this over and Dean thought he had fallen asleep again then he said,

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"When are we going to say goodbye?" Dean, who had been perusing some magazines that the nurse had dropped off, raised his eyes to get a good look at Sam. His little brother was staring back with a look that told Dean he better have an answer. Dean tossed the magazine back into the pile and leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on the rail of the bed.

"I don't think we have to," Dean said. "Because sometime I'm going to see you again. I don't believe in much but I believe in that. We've got something betwee us, Sammy, and I'm pretty sure it's not something that anyone can keep from happening. If all those angels are telling the truth, then I know you'll be in my heaven."

"I'm not going to heaven," Sam said and there was a thread of lucidity in his expression.

"Oh yes you are," Dean lied. "Me too. That's where I'll see you." Sam thought about it.

"So we don't say goodbye?"

"Not unless you think you'll never see me again." Sam's eyes were glassy, this moment of clarity growing thin.

"Dean?" Sam whispered. His hair was sweaty and stuck to his forehead but the nurses had shaved his scruff yesterday. The result was that he looked about twenty-five again, maybe younger.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'll see Mom?" Dean thought of Mary's appearance the other night, the look of utter adoration she had turned on Sam, her voice gentle in his ear. All of a sudden, Dean ached for death.

"Of course," he said roughly. "She's probably already waiting for you. Sammy, you're going to love her. I can't wait for you to meet her. It's the only reason I'm letting you go; I know she's gonna be there to take care of you." Dean could tell without looking up that Sam had fallen asleep by the way his breaths had leveled out but he kept talking.

"God, Sam, I just don't know…I don't know what I'm going to do without you. It's fucking insane. There's nothing left for me here. What am I without you as my brother? I'm just a worn out Hunter with no one left to love. You, buddy, you are my biggest flaw and my greatest triumph. Even when we weren't together, I was fighting for you. Always for you. Now there's no one left to fight for and even if there was, I'm so tired of fighting. I'm just so goddamn tired." Dean lowered his head to his arms, wishing that he could cry but knowing tears were beyond his shattered soul.

"I want to go with you, Sam," he whispered. "I want to go with you."

* * *

Sam woke with a strangled cry as if he was choking. Eyes wide open and darting around the room, he strained to sit up, only to be rejected by his weak body.

"Hey!" Dean said, dropping his feet to the ground from where they'd been resting on Kat's empty chair. "I'm right here. I'm right here, Sam." Sam reached out and grabbed at Dean's arms, pulling him forward with a certain strength reserved for dying men.

"Dean. I'm sorry."

"Sammy, relax, you're fine." But Sam wasn't listening. He was straining to get the words out, almost panting. Dean looked around for a nurse but the hallway was empty. With Sam's hands holding him tight, he couldn't reach the emergency button.

"Dean, listen to me," Sam said fiercely.

"I'm listening!" Dean said.

"I didn't want to say yes."

"What?" Alarmed, Dean noticed tears in Sam's eyes.

"I shouldn't have said yes."

"Said yes? To what?"

"To Lucifer," Sam whispered. "I didn't want to fight you. You're my brother."

"Sam, that was years ago. You hear me? It's okay."

"You're my brother," Sam repeated as if Dean hadn't spoken. "Brothers shouldn't fight. Michael and Lucifer…they set us up. They tricked us. They tricked me!" Now Dean had tears in his eyes; he couldn't stand seeing Sam like this. Sweat rolled down Sam's forehead and his fingers scrabbled at Dean's shirt, clutching the fabric. "It wasn't fair. Destiny. Free will. Bullshit." His eyes locked onto Dean's and there wasn't much Dean recognized in them. He was losing his brother. "Why us?" Sam whispered. "Why did it have to be us?"

"I don't know," Dean said softly. "It just was, Sammy."

"I shouldn't have said yes," he said, voice rising again. Dean worried he was going to go into full hysterics.

"Sam," Dean said firmly. "Listen, that was years ago. You're safe and you're okay. Remember your life now? You have Kat and Parker. Think of your family." The craze seemed to seep from Sam's gaze like a poison, leaving him more confused than anything.

"What?"

"Your family, man."

"Kat."

"Yep. Kat and Parker." He let go of Dean's shirt and eased back onto his pillow.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Dean forced out a laugh.

"Me? Of course not. I'm going to stay right here."

"Don't leave," Sam mumbled, closing his eyes. Dean wiped the sweat from his face.

"Never. I will never leave you, Sammy," Dean said, heart aching. "I promise."

Dean's face was still buried in his hands when Kat walked in a minute later, nudging him with a cup of coffee.

"Did he wake up?"

"Kind of," Dean said. He sipped his coffee and stared at the wall because he couldn't look Kat in the eye. "He was talking about Lucifer." She sighed and sat down

"How are you doing?" Dean asked. She mustered a wry smile that fell flat a second later. Her fingers twisted around the paper coffee cup, nails raking the sides; a simple gold wedding band glimmered under the fluorescent lights.

"I lost my husband a week ago," she said. "Every time he's woken, he's asked for you, not me. He talks about Hunting. About Lucifer, about angels, about someone named Ruby." She shook her head when Dean opened his mouth. "No, you don't have to apologize or justify it. I don't want any explanations either. Not right now. It's just…I think for the first time I'm realizing how much of a life Sam had before I met him. For three and a half years, he was mine. This life that we had was ours and it seemed like it had been that way since the beginning of time. But there was a whole thirty years of him before that. It's hard to wrap my head around the fact he was someone different that I never got to know."

"He wouldn't have wanted you to know him back then," Dean said. "Hunting brought out every flaw we had. Every mistake, every misjudgment we made could have ended our lives and that's not an easy path to take. You saw all the parts of Sam he wanted you to see: the good ones. I think with you it was easier for him to forget all those misgivings." Kat watched her husband as Dean spoke; her hair was thrown up into a bun. Like Dean, she had on the same clothes from yesterday. They were dangling at the end of the same rope.

"Listen, I don't want you thinking that all Sam did was mess up. No matter what he tells you. He saved the world. He stopped the apocalypse. And he was ready to do it again. That's why he's the best Hunter I've ever seen, because he actually cares about what he does. Maybe too much."

"He was a better hunter than your dad?"

"Ten times over. My father hunted out of anger and revenge. Sam hunted out compassion and an almost perverse need to do the right thing."

"Better than yourself?"

Dean shrugged.

"I'm not that great."

Somehow Kat doubted that. Dean lived with such intensity; sometimes it scared her. It didn't matter what it was, whether he was taking care of Sam or playing with Parker or simply working on his car. He threw his heart into everything he did; there was a raw energy around him that she would never understand and she imagined that made him one hell of a Hunter. It was easy to picture him shooting something or swinging a knife into something's ribs. She could picture it because she used to be like that. Until the intensity had started to drain everything else from her and she had been forced to either burn out or tone it down.

Marrying Sam had helped. He was intense but in a different way. He was softer, vibrating with constant energy instead of rumbling with it, like the other two. When she had been floating away, he pulled her back to earth and kept her planted there. Without him, Kat was scared she would start losing it again. At least she had Parker this time. If she could hold onto him tightly enough, maybe she could make it.

"I thought I was going to have him forever," she whispered, voice cracking. With shaking hands, she set down the coffee and pulled her knees up to her chin like a child. Dean moved his chair closer so that he could wrap an arm around her back. "Did you?"

Dean thought about Death a lot. He had always thought he would die a Hunter, going down in a spray of blood. And when he had asked Sam that question a couple weeks, Sam admitted he thought he would live with Kat until he was old. But what had Dean considered for Sam? When he first thought about it, the answer he came up with was that he couldn't imagine his brother dying. At least, not permanently. So many times, Sam had died and yet he always found a way back, with or without Dean's help. Dean never really had to think about Sam's life ending forever.

But when he thought about it longer, he realized that deep in his gut was the feeling that in some grotesque way, Sam was never meant to live out his life. Maybe it had been the tragic ending back in Cold Oak, South Dakota when a knife had ripped through Sam's spinal cord. Maybe from then on, Sam was meant to die young and they were just fooling themselves all those time they had imagined themselves as old men. Dean had hoped – he had fucking prayed – for Sam to get out of Hunting and grow white hair and use a walker to get to bingo, but it was just a wish. Just a dream.

"No," Dean said, rubbing circles on Kat's back as much to soothe himself as her. "No, I didn't. I know that sounds horrible but…" he swiveled his head to Sam. "Nothing that pure can lost for long."

Kat shivered under his touch and started crying and he stared at his brother for a second longer before turning and comforting the weeping woman beside him.

* * *

There was sandpaper in Sam's mouth. No, that wasn't right. It was just his tongue but it was hot and swollen and when he tried to lick his lips, he gasped instead. Prying his eyes open was an ordeal but soon enough he was staring at a white wall and there were his feet, under a blue blanket. His body felt like there were weights attached to it, like someone had tried to sink him out at sea with a bunch of rocks tied to his limbs.

It was dark in the room save for the glow of the muted TV, which was too blurry for him to watch. There was a dark shape to his right and it wasn't moving. Two of the fingers on his right hand seemed to be working and he tried to clasp the button that would relieve him from this pain but instead he knocked it off the bed. It fell with a clatter and the dark shape moved and become a person.

"Sam? Sweetie, are you okay?" The pain was creeping over him; he was so disoriented and he couldn't see anything. There was a hand on his cheek and he shied away, turning his face against the pillow.

"Dean," he mumbled, the only name that filtered through the haze of the mind.

"He went to get food. Do you want me to get him?" Sam's chest was on fire, his lungs were working way too hard at breathing. It was a woman standing over him, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. There was something familiar about her.

"Dean," he said again because it seemed to be the only word that would come out of his mouth. He felt cool air on his face as the woman sighed and turned away. She was upset. He didn't know her but she seemed so nice and beautiful and he didn't want her to be upset. Her hand was next to Sam's and he reached over, wanting to comfort her. She looked surprised when his fingers crept to her palm.

"Don't cry," he said, patting her hand once. This only made her cry harder and Sam tried to frown. She couldn't be a nurse because she was dressed in an over-sized sweater and jeans. She must know Sam somehow but he didn't want to insult her by asking who she was. He wanted to ask for his pain pump because his head was about to explode and he was sure there were flames licking his ribs.

The door to his room opened and he thought that maybe it was someone to help take the agony away. His eyes widened when he saw Dean in the doorway, holding something. So his brother  _was_  here.

The woman extracted her hand from Sam and went to Dean before he could take two steps into the room. Sam watched his brother as the woman said something to Dean's chest. He nodded and let his eyes meet Sam's. There was no smile. Dean put an arm around the woman's shoulder and said something in her ear. She nodded back at him and wiped her eyes, letting Dean move to Sam's bedside.

"Dean," Sam said, eyes sliding from Dean to the woman and back again. Maybe they were together?

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm here."

"Hospital?" Dean gave a weary nod.

"Yeah, you're in the hospital." Dean sat and leaned close so that Sam didn't have to raise his voice above a whisper. "Are you thirsty?" No, Sam was hurting, but he nodded anyway and Dean held his head up so water could drip down his throat. This was bewildering. What was going on? The lady was standing at the door, biting her lip as she watched the brothers. Dean had one hand wrapped around Sam's forearm, the other up near Sam's head and he leaned in close as Sam whispered something to him.

"Who is that?" As out of it as he was, Sam noticed the way Dean's eyes narrowed as he decided how to answer. "Tell the truth."

"That's Kat."

Kat. The name was as familiar as the woman. He knew it from somewhere. He searched Dean's eyes for clues but Dean just looked sad. Kat. Short for Katherine. How did he know that? The truth hit him harder than the pain.

_Kat._

"Oh," Sam said, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He fixed his eyes on his wife and it was as if a heavy curtain had been dragged from around his mind. Everything was suddenly clear and Sam remembered.

He was in the hospital because he had cancer and was dying. Dean was here to take care of him. Sam had a wife and son.

Dean backed away and Kat took a hesitant step forward.

"I'm sorry," Sam told her. "I'm sorry I couldn't remember." She had started crying again, his beautiful Kat.

"It's okay," she said, brushing the hair off his forehead and kissing him. He relished the feeling of her lips on his forehead. He wondered if she could feel his shame burning beneath them.

"That's not the first time, is it?" he asked.

"Sam, it's okay."

It wasn't.

"Is this the end?" When her fingers froze in their path along his skin, he knew. The news didn't come as a surprise; he felt like he was drifting away, like a boat someone had forgotten to tether to the dock.

"Parker?" Sam asked and there was so much held in that one word.

"He's with my mom. He's fine, enjoying the attention. Do you remember I brought him in to see you?" Sam did remember but it seemed like years ago. He smiled at the memory of the toddler playing on his hospital bed, of showing his Daddy the art projects he made with his babysitter.

"I'm going to miss him so much," Sam said and it wasn't the pain choking him now but the tears.

"I know," Kat said.

"I'm going to miss you." She gave tiny nods over and over, combing his hair with her fingers. There was that natural curve to her lips so that even when she looked sad, she seemed as though she were on the verge of laughing. He loved that. He didn't know if Dean had left the room and he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, only the two of them existed in this moment. "I'm sorry I have to go."

"Don't be sorry," she said. "I'm not sorry for any of it," she said, tracing his jawline with the tip of one finger, letting it wander across his lips. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Sam Winchester. And I can't wait to see you again someday." A minute ago, the pain had been overwhelming and now it was just a candle flicker compared to the warmth of her palm against his cheek, her gaze on his face. She watched as his lips curled into a smile and she held her breath at the elegance he still managed.

"Would it be inappropriate to ask you to kiss me?" he whispered. As she blinked, her eyelashes shuddered against her skin and then floated upwards again. When her lips found his skin, Sam moaned. She paused but his fingers pressed into her wrist, urging her forward. So she bent again, pressing herself against the neckline of his hospital gown, making her way over his collarbone and up his neck. Sam closed his eyes, knowing he would never forget this moment, no matter where he ended up after this. He would carry this memory to Hell and he would covet it for the rest of his existence.

As she finally made her way to his lips, Sam gathered every ounce of strength left and kissed her back. She gasped, not expecting him to react but then they rediscovered the reason they had fallen in love and she smiled,  _laughed,_  against him. With one hand, he pushed himself up and raised his head, pushing back with everything he had, wanting her to know just how much he remembered her. Just how much he loved her.

Salt stained their tongues and as the kiss continued, their tears mixed together until neither one could tell where each set of tears began and ended. And they didn't want to know.

Every once in a while, not knowing could be the most powerful.

The answers weren't always clear.

Some things just couldn't be measured.

Sam believed that.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is a big one. Only three more chapters after this.

Dean woke up with sweat covering every inch of his body, his heart racing but his mind unable to grasp what the dream had been about. Sam, obviously. But someone else – or something else – had been at the edges. He thought at first the dream was what had waken him but then the phone on his bedside table rang shrilly in his left ear. His fingers were already reaching for it when the tone cut of mid-ring. He waited in the darkness, paralyzed, heart pounding.

This was it. He could feel it. Sam had died and Dean hadn't been there with him. He had been lying in his bed, his nice comfortable bed while his baby brother….

Sam had been in a coma for over thirty-six hours and Kat and the nurses had finally forced a sleep-deprived Dean to go home, telling him he couldn't see his brother again for a few hours.

"He won't even know you're gone," one of the nurses said. "I'll stay with him, okay?"

"He'll know," Dean insisted.

"I'll stay with him," the nurse repeated and Dean had turned his back and walked away.

God, he was going to be sick. He would have right then and there but the little bit of dignity left in him forced his legs over the side of the bed and he staggered out of the room, nearly collapsing under the weight of reality. Opening the door into the hallway, he almost ran into something, throwing himself back against the doorframe, one hand reaching absurdly for a gun he no longer carried.

"Dean?"

"Kat?" Her voice sounded clear enough, no tears. "I heard the phone…" He fumbled for the light switch inside the door to his room and found it, illuminating his sister-in-law in harsh light. She was fully dressed.

"It was the hospital. He's still alive." Dean's knees nearly buckled with relief. The crushing weight on his chest lessened but lingered, as if telling him it would be back. "But he went into cardiac arrest." She dipped her head, hair falling forward to hide her expression as her voice cracked.

Still, even after all these years, all these months of knowing what was coming, after watching him drift farther and farther away, the drive to protect Sam flooded Dean. Sam was hurt, Sam was sick, Sam was in trouble. And Dean couldn't breathe.

"We have to go," she said. She wasn't looking at him but at the front door, keys already in her hand.

"Yes," he mumbled. He ducked into the room to throw on pants and a jacket and then practically sprinted toward the front door, knowing Kat was already in the car. She had put herself in the passenger seat and from the way her hands were shaking, he was glad. Glad to have something to do, glad to grip his fingers around a steering wheel, a gas pedal beneath his foot. It was familiar territory and on the way to the hospital he thought of how many times he had raced to a hunt, how many hairpin turns the tires of the Impala had taken. This car – a silver SUV – was a clumsy giant compared to his baby but the desire to get somewhere as fast as he could was the same.

They pulled into the hospital twenty minutes later, making the now familiar trek through the various twists and turns of the sterile hallways and taking an elevator up to the oncology ward. He stopped outside his brother's room as Kat went forward to the nurses' station, seeking a doctor, information. Through the glass walls, Dean stared at the form on the bed.

Sam seemed to have shrunk since yesterday. His form once so tall and regal was merely a shell beneath the blankets. There were a couple new machines beeping by the bedside and his brother's skin had taken on a gray pallor. Dean could almost hear his brother's struggle to breathe as watched his chest rise erratically.

"Jesus, Sammy," he said under his breath. Behind him, he could hear Kat's voice speaking in hushed tones with Dr. Jones but he didn't even try to listen in. There was nothing new to hear anyway.

Kat's hand appeared on his shoulder and Dean turned, slightly shocked by the calm expression on her face. Perhaps she was still in denial. She was, after all, not as acquainted with death as Dean. Maybe it didn't frighten her as much as it did him. In that moment, he longed to live in the shadow of her ignorance, to un-know everything he knew about life.

"Dean, I just talked to Dr. Jones. He explained something to me." He just stared at her. The white-haired doctor was too sympathetic looking, his eyes too wide. Dean wanted to punch him, but instead he curled his hand into a fist inside his jacket pocket.

"What?" She looked hesitantly at the doctor but then plunged on, taking a deep breath as she did so.

"Sam had a massive heart attack. His heart – it's just working too hard – his whole body is. But he just keeps fighting."

"We managed to resuscitate him twice, Dean," Dr. Jones cut in. He said the words in a tone that bled comfort but all it did was make Dean nauseous. He can't believe he had liked this guy once. He curled his other fist. Kat seemed to sense his distress – amazingly – through her own.

"We think he's holding on," Kat said. "Dean, I've said goodbye to him, I've told him it's okay to go. It's not me he's waiting for."

Dean's heart groaned.

_Sammy._

Without a word to either one of them, he walked into Sam's hospital room and shut the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the doctor put an arm around Kat's shoulder and lead her away.

The two brothers were alone again.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean said, leaning against the door, gazing up at the white tiled ceiling in hopes to keep the tears at bay. They came anyway, pouring down his cheeks, burning his skin with salt. "You're not making this easy, you know?" He walked further into the room, placing one foot slowly in front of the other as if moving any faster would cause him to topple over. He sank into the bedside chair with the effort of a much older man.

"They think you're waiting for me. If only they knew you never waited for me for anything. You didn't wait when we were little and you ran ahead of me when we went to town. You didn't wait when we went on hunts, always putting yourself in danger without a thought. You didn't wait for me when you realized hunting wasn't the only thing there was in the world. I've always been so slow to catch up."

His head hung low and for the first time in all those years, Dean wished he still wore the amulet Sam had given him during Christmas when they children.

"But if you're waiting for me now, Sammy, I'm – God – I'm telling you it's okay to go ahead." His voice broke and the tears came with new meaning. "You're probably standing somewhere in this room aren't you, hiding from your reaper, huh? Or maybe you sweet-talked your way into staying some extra time. But that ain't the way, Sam."

Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's hand in his own, tracing the worn knuckles and the faded scars, marveling at the way his little brother's fingers were so much larger and longer than his own.

"You tell Mom and Dad I say hi, okay? And I'll keep watch of your little boy down here, I promise. He's going to grow up knowing how great his father was. I'm going to do right by you, Sammy. That's all I've ever wanted to do, you understand that?" The tears became too thick for Dean to continue speaking and all he could do was hold his brother's hand and cry, knowing this was the end. Of everything.

His whole body shook with grief.

"We had a good run, Sammy. But you can go to sleep now. I'll keep watch." Then, through the tears, Dean started humming a song, the same lullaby Mary had used to put her eldest child to bed. His voice rose and fell in the rhythm and as the humming turned into mumbled words, he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned to tell them to go away, no one was there. No one he could see. At the same moment, every machine in the room started going off and Dean knew.

It was over.

Sam Winchester was dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Was it an okay death scene?


	26. Chapter 26

When Dean arrived back at home, he locked himself in his bedroom, not even making it to the bed before his knees hit the floor. The tears came in rivers accompanied by loud, heavy sobbing as his head fell into his hands. His whole body heaved and Dean felt like screaming, felt like clawing into his own chest and ripping out that pounding, traitorous heart of his.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't live without Sam. It'd only been a couple hours and already he could feel the weight of responsibility sliding out of his life. There was nothing he was tethered to anymore; his entire family was gone and Dean was alone. Utterly and inescapably alone. The realization crushed him. He staggered to the bed, throwing the mattress off, revealing a flash of silver.

Dean had never held the knife so tight. The wood was warm and comfortable in his hand, almost molded to his grip. He'd killed enough to know exactly where to plunge it. He'd be dead within minutes. Dead but reunited with the only ones that mattered. He knew that he had made promises to Sam, had told him he would take care of his family but what did Sam know? He was dead and Dean was well on his way to following. Following…where?

A vision of Sam's soul in hell flashed red in his mind and he shuddered, the tears still coming. He hadn't been truthful when he told Sam he was going to Heaven; there were too many demons after the younger Winchester's soul. Hot anger swept through him at the thought of Sammy being tortured for eternity and Dean turned the knife around, away from his chest. He stood drunkenly, swaying. He'd kill every son of a bitch he could until he found a way to rescue Sam's soul and release it to heaven. It was the only thing left for Dean to do. After that, he would kill himself. A pissed off Dean Winchester was alarming. A pissed off Dean Winchester with nothing to lose was downright dangerous.

"Dean."

He spun around, vision blurry for a moment. The figure in front of him elicited a thunderous roar from Dean and he lunged forward, knife ready. The figure disappeared and Dean pulled back just in time to avoid sending the point of the knife into the door.

"I'll fucking kill you," he growled, turning to face the figure, now on the other side of the room. "Leave right now."

Castiel cocked his head.

"You won't."

Dean dove forward again but Cas sidestepped out of his reach, frowning.

"Please stop doing that." Dean shook his head. He was just getting started.

You leave for three fucking years and then just show up all of a sudden? Now? Hours,  _hours,_ after Sam…" He couldn't say the word.

"I'm sorry about Sam," Cas said and the sincerity in his tone was what stopped Dean angling for another attack. "Truly, Dean, I am."

"You could have saved him. You could have healed him." Cas didn't deny it.

"Dean, I came to offer something else."

"I don't want anything from you."

"I'll take Sam's soul to Heaven."

Everything disappeared. The grief, the half-destroyed bedroom, the promise he made years ago to kill Castiel if he ever saw him again.

"Why would you do that?" Cas looked confused.

"Sam was my friend." Dean snorted but his mind was spinning. The angel could do it and easily. So much more easily than Dean could. And so much faster. Sam would hardly suffer at all. Dean's brows knit together.

"What do you want from me?" Again, Cas cocked his head.

"Nothing. I have already asked too much of you, Dean."

"You would do that? Really?"

"Yes." Dean composed himself, wiping a callused hand across his face and stood up straight, loosening his grip on the knife.

"Thanks, Cas." His voice was weak with grief and relief.

"You're welcome." Cas hesitated and then said, "Dean? Would you like me to come back?" Dean thought of his shattered life, of all the pieces that had been put back together again and again. Cas was just one of those pieces. And even though he was still furious about being ignored for over three years, he knew he'd never let go of that piece of his life. But right now, being with the angel was too painful. He reminded him of too much.

"I need some time," he allowed. "But if one day you make your way back, I won't try to kill you." Castiel left with the hint of a smile and the rustle of wings.

Dean left the room a few hours later after having fixed the bed and cleaned up the broken pottery that had been destroyed in his leap towards Cas. He doubted Kat would care. He spotted Bullet on the way to the kitchen; the dog was laying by the front door, the same place she had occupied since Sam had left for the hospital. Kat's mother was in the kitchen, feeding Parker lunch.

"Dean," Barbara said, standing. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," he muttered, allowing her to hug him.

"I just want you to know that I loved Sam like one of my own children. He was a great man." Dean didn't want to talk about Sam.

"Yeah."

"Are you hungry? I can heat something up for you." There was already a new casserole dish on the kitchen counter. The thought of eating made Dean want to vomit.

"No. I was just wondering where Kat was." Barbara's eyes flickered to Parker who grinned up at them, holding out a piece of chicken with sticky fingers.

"She's in the bedroom." Dean left them to lunch and walked back down the hall. He knocked softly on the door before letting himself in. Kat was curled up on her side, hugging a pillow and staring at a framed picture of her and Sam on the bedside table. Dean was painfully aware of Sam's bathrobe thrown over the chair in the corner, a pair of his shoes tucked just inside the door. The whole house screamed of him.

"Hey," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She didn't look at him.

"Hey." He didn't know what to say. She was the only person in the world hurting as much as him right now and he didn't know how to comfort her. Everything that came to mind sounded fake and cheesy. They both knew that nothing was going to make this day easier. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.

"I'm – uh – I'm taking off for a couple days," he said after a minute. That got her attention. She sat up, keeping the pillow in her lap. He realized with a lurch of his stomach that it was the pillow from Sam's side of the bed.

"What?"

"There's some stuff I need to take care of." Her eyes went from broken-hearted to angry in a flash.

"Yeah, there's some stuff I need to take care of too," she hissed. "Like a fucking funeral. For my husband. Your brother." He flinched at the word funeral.

"I know. But your mom is here to help and…" he trailed off, his head bowing under her accusatory glare.

"You're a real piece of work," she spat. He'd heard that before. Dean stood and was almost to the door when he spoke without looking at her, staring hard at the wall in front of him.

"I'll be back in time," he said. "If you still want me around." Something broke in Kat's expression as she watched her brother-in-law. She couldn't bear to turn him away, no matter how angry she was.

"I do," she said, almost whispered. "Please come back." He nodded and left the room.

* * *

 

He stopped at John's old storage unit on the way back to the bunker. It was the middle of the night but he slipped in without any noise and grabbed a flashlight from the shelf. He moved past the guns and knives, ancient relics and weapons. All in the way in back he found what he was looking for. There were two shelves that sported trophies and old toys. Folders were stuffed with children's artwork and certificates of achievement. Dean ignored his own shelf, rifling through Sam's old stuff. The last time he had been here he swore he had seen – yes, there it was. He stuffed the object into his bag and was about to turn away when something caught his eye. Two army men were tucked in the corner of one shelf, standing upright, their plastic faces stuck in a soldier's grimace. Dean stared at them for a long minute and then swept them up, his fingers coated with dust. He shoved the figures in his pocket and left the storage unit, unsure if he would ever come back.

The bunker was quiet when he walked in, the lights off. Dirty dishes were stacked high in the sink and crumbs littered the oak table. On an ordinary day, Dean would have cursed Kevin but he hardly noticed the mess. He didn't notice the light that seeped from Kevin's bedroom either; he turned around only when the door opened.

"Dean? Is that you?" Kevin stuck his head out the door, along with the nose of the gun. When he saw Dean, the gun disappeared and the rest of his body came into the hallway. "Why are you here? Is everything okay?" But as soon as he said it, Kevin knew. He knew from the shattered expression that Dean wore, from the way he stood as if there was nothing left inside of him.

"Dean, I'm so sorry." Dean glanced away then nodded and kept walking, his duffel bag swinging in his grip. The lights in his room flickered on and he sat on his bed and pulled the object from the bag.

A photo album fell open in his lap and Dean stared down at the first picture. It was of him and Sam, around the ages of eight and twelve maybe. They were each holding baseball bats so they couldn't have been with John. Bobby, maybe, or Pastor Jim. Sam was grinning so wide, Dean was surprised his face hadn't split in two. He flipped the page. The next one was older: Sam was just a baby, maybe about Parker's age. He was smiling again – Sam was always smiling – and you could just make out Dean in the background, a dark, blurred shape.

Dean turned the pages faster, speeding through the years. He had no idea who had put this album together. He doubted it was his father; John wouldn't have even thought of it. Some other hunter then, one of the many who had watched the boys when John was away. Dean would probably never know. He stopped on a page where the boys were older; Sam was taller than Dean now. Both were holding a gun and this time Sam's smile was tense. There was a bandage wrapped around Dean's upper arm and he thought he remembered this hunt. It had been a werewolf and Sam had almost refused to accompany the other two. It must have been about a year or so before he left for Stanford.

He kept flipping until he hit the last page. There it was. The only photo he knew of that had all four members of the Winchester family in it. Mary was holding Sam who must have only been a few months old in a blue onesie. His small baby feet were bare and kicking toward the camera. John had Dean on his shoulders, holding onto the boy with protective hands as Dean bent over his father's head. Dean was the only one not looking at the camera; his face was turned toward Sam and you could see the delighted smile the four-year-old wore as he watched his infant brother.

The glue was old and the picture came easily away from the page, sticking slightly to his palm as Dean brushed a thumb over all four smiling faces. It didn't feel like it had been real but if he closed his eyes and pushed away all the other crap in his head, he could sometimes unlock the memories.

Like Mary singing "Hey Jude" to Dean as he fell asleep in his parents' bed because for a while he was scared of the monster under his bed. That was, until John had bought Dean a squirt gun and claimed it was really a magic gun that would keep all the monsters away. At first Mary had complained about giving their toddler a toy gun but that night, Dean slept the whole night in his bed and she ended up thanking her husband. Sam was born almost exactly nine months later.

"Dean, come see your baby brother," John had said the day they brought Sam home from the hospital. John's mother had been staying with Dean for a couple days while Mary was in the hospital, and even though she made him cookies and let him stay up past his bedtime, Dean was overjoyed when his parent's came back.

"Let me see!" he said, sliding into the kitchen still wearing his racecar pajamas. "Let me see!"

"Shhh," Mary said, holding a white bundle to her chest. "You have to be quiet. We don't want to make the baby cry." She sat down on the couch and Dean crawled up next to her, suddenly shy in front of this strange creature.

"It's okay," Mary said, as John came to sit on Dean's other side, ready to grab the boy away if need be. "This is your little brother. This is Sam." Dean cocked his head and stared at the pink face. He jerked back in surprise when Sam's eyes opened and looked right back at Dean. The infant opened his mouth in a yawn and when a squeak came out, Dean grinned. He touched Sam's cheek with one of his own small fingers and the baby reached up, batting at Dean's finger.

"He likes me!" Dean told his parents.

"You're going to have to help us look after him," John told his eldest son. Dean's green eyes widened as he looked back and forth between Mary and John. "You're going to have to take care of him and protect him like a big brother does. Sammy's going to need you."

"I can do that," Dean said and it was the first time he sounded grown up. He stared down at his brother again, not knowing until years later that the funny feeling in his chest was called love.

Dean slipped the picture into his wallet and then put the photo album back in the duffel bag. As he passed by Kevin's room, he heard the Prophet talking to someone but it too soft for Dean to hear.

He made his way to the Weapons room and just stood there for a couple minutes, letting his eyes roam over all the different guns. There were knives hanging across one wall ranging from daggers to machetes. A couple crossbows sat in the corner next to what looked like a medieval mace. Dean had added to the collection by making sure several vats of holy water were always filled and there were sacks of salt piled in one corner.

He moved toward the guns, touching a few with his fingertips, picking up a couple to load and unload them just for fun. After so much sitting around, so much doing nothing, it felt good to have his hands doing something useful. The movements were a lullaby to Dean, calming him like the gentle rocking of a boat. The last one he picked up was Sam's gun. At least it had been until he left. Dean had no idea why his brother hadn't taken his favorite firearm with him when he walked out but in three and a half years, Dean hadn't touched the weapon. It was heavier than the guns he was used to but then again, Sam had had bigger hands and liked a weightier weapon.

Dean tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

There was a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue tucked in the back of the pantry; Dean couldn't even remember where it had come from but the bittersweet scent of blended scotch whiskey wafted up to him. Sam's voice was in his ear.

_Can you even get drunk anymore? Isn't it kind of like drinking a vitamin for you?_

"Let's find out, Sammy," Dean said out loud, pouring himself a glass and downing it in one swallow. God, it was good. He poured himself another and that one was gone as quickly as the first. "No need for this," he said, putting the glass in the sink.

Gripping the bottle by the neck, he climbed the stairs but instead of going into his room, he stopped outside the door to Sam's. It had remained closed for years; Dean had only gone in once or twice when he was looking for something for a hunt. He went in now, taking a swig of Mr. Walker before entering.

The room smelled like stale air and Dean kicked the door open wide. The bed was made up with the same gray blankets that Dean's was but where Dean had three pillows, Sam only had one. There was nothing on the walls but there were still plenty of clothes left in the closet. Dean wondered if Sam had meant to come back to get them and the bottle touched his lips again when he realized he would never know.

It was the maybe-I'm-getting-a-little-drunk part of Dean that made him get down on his knees – bottle still in hand – to look under the bed. There was nothing there and Dean rocked back on his heels, letting out a sigh of alcohol. Almost a quarter of the bottle was gone. Part of him recognized that he should probably slow down but it was a very small part of him and Dean silenced it by taking another generous sip. He was about to stand when he noticed a piece of paper wedged under the dresser. He slid his hand under and grabbed a corner by two fingers, dragging it out in a cloud of dust. It was an envelope and Dean's name was scrawled on the outside.

Dean glanced around, an absurd gesture since he was almost entirely alone but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. It was probably the whiskey; paranoia caused by inebriation.

He let go of the bottle for the first time, making sure it didn't spill and held the envelope with one hand while opening it with the other.

_Dean,_

It was Sam's handwriting. Of course it was. He stared at the bottle as if it was going to start talking to him; he just wanted someone to tell him what he was supposed to do. But the only alcohol that was going to talk was the bit already traveling through his veins. He started to read.

_Dean,_

_In ten minutes, I'm going to walk out the door of the bunker. You'll probably be upset because you tend to not like me leaving but I think you'll be okay. Hopefully, you come in here eventually and find this letter because I don't think I could say these words to your face._

_I'm really sorry. For everything. For your broken arm that I know is hurting you and for your rib. I'm sorry for letting that vampire get the better of me. You're right; I'm not a hundred percent. I think I had a hard time convincing myself of that because I don't know who I am if I'm not a Hunter._

_That's why I have to find out. Who knows, I might be back next week, next month, a year. You know, I used to think that Hunting wasn't for me and that's why I left for Stanford. Then you showed me that maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world._

_Thank you for that._

_But now I want to see if there's anything left of me, any remaining part that I can salvage. You might not understand that. No, I know you won't understand, because there's so much left of you and every part of is dedicated to this lifestyle. I'm kind of jealous actually, of how sure of your life you are._

_I know it's going to take you a while to stop being angry. But once you are, once you think you can forgive me, and if I'm still gone, please find me. I don't want to stop being brothers. You're my family and nothing can change that._

_You know how to reach me._

_Sam_

Dean finished the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue sitting on the floor of his dead brother's bedroom, holding a letter written by the same dead brother, more than half-hoping he'd fall asleep and never wake up.

 


	27. Chapter 27

Nevertheless, Dean woke abruptly out of his alcohol-induced slumber, his hand slipping on the wooden floor as he tried instinctively to get up.

"What the hell?" he said, noticing that he was covered in something wet. His shirt stuck to his body and when he shook his head, droplets of whatever it was flew in every direction. Dean reached for the gun only to find it missing. That's when he noticed the pair of brown loafers a few feet away.

"Don't get mad."

Kevin was standing in front of him, holding Sam's gun in one hand and an empty bucket in the other.

"What are you doing with that?" Dean said, never taking his eyes off the gun as he pulled himself into a sitting position, his back against Sam's bed. He felt as if someone had been pounding nails into his head all night long.

"I didn't want you to shoot me when I threw water on you." Dean considered that. At least it was just water. He'd woken up plenty of times covered in blood or something equally disgusting.

"Speaking of," Dean said. " _Why_  am I covered in water?"

"Well you've been lying on that floor for about ten hours and I wanted to make sure you weren't dead."

"You could have done it in a normal way," Dean grumbled, pushing his soaking hair back with his palms. The empty bottle of whiskey was tipped on its side near Kevin's foot. The kid reached down and picked it up, holding it at arm's distance before setting it down on the dresser.

"That didn't seem safe," Kevin said, brandishing the gun. "I didn't want to get too close. You know, in case you killed me."

"Fair enough," Dean said. When he went to stand, something crinkled beneath his foot and he snatched the letter off the ground.

"What's that?"

"None of your business," Dean snapped. Apparently he could still get a hangover as well as still get drunk. If Kevin didn't move, Dean was going to vomit Johnnie Walker all over the kid.

"It's Sam's letter, isn't it?"

"How do you know about that?" Kevin handed the gun back to Dean who made sure the safety was on and then tucked it back into his jeans. His wet, wet jeans.

"He told me about it during one of our phone calls."

"You knew and you didn't tell me?" Kevin looked nervous; he took a step back.

"How was I supposed to know you didn't find it?" A thought struck Dean.

"Kevin, did you know he was sick?" The Prophet held the bucket in front of him like a shield and glanced toward the hallway as if someone was going to appear. He was starting to regret waking Dean up. "Kevin!"

"Dean, put the gun away," Kevin said. Dean realized the gun had come out of his pants and he was holding it with one hand, the barrel pointed toward the ground but it was visibly trembling in his grip.

"You knew and you didn't tell me?" roared Dean. He raised the gun and Kevin flinched, ducking below the bucket.

"He told me not to tell you!" Dean let out a growl of frustration and stalked past the boy, gun still in hand. How could Sam have done this to him? If Dean had known earlier…

He started throwing stuff into the duffel bag. The photo album, the letter, dry clothes.

"Where are you going?" Kevin said from the doorway. It was curious he hadn't locked himself in his room after Dean's realization. He was either very brave or very stupid.

"Are you really asking me that?"

"Aren't you still kind of drunk?"

"If only," muttered Dean. He grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, amazed to see there was actual food in the fridge. Kevin had learned how to grocery shop. He turned suddenly and Kevin – who had followed him at a distance – froze.

"You have enough money and everything?" Dean asked. "Do you need anything?"

"N-no," Kevin said. "I'm fine. But Dean, I don't think you should be driving."

Driving was the only thing Dean wanted to do at the moment. His head was throbbing and his stomach was less than stable but the thought of sitting still any longer was the most sickening. He needed to be on the move, in the Impala. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense now, being on the road. It was his comfort-zone. And Dean really needed comfort.

"I'm fine. I – uh – might not be back for a while." He had no idea when he was coming back. He'd promised Sam that he'd look after his family and it was a promise he intended to keep.

"Okay. Call me if you need anything." Dean stared at Kevin with half curious expression before leaving the bunker.

He never looked back.

* * *

Sam's letter rode shotgun all the way back and was tucked into Dean's suit pocket during the funeral. He'd made it through an hour worth of the viewing before leaving Kat's side in favor of the Impala. He sat in the garage of Sam's house and read his brother's handwriting until it was imprinted on the backs of eyelids. It had been an open casket and there had been more people there then Dean was expecting. Kat's friends and family. The entire neighborhood. People Sam had met around town, who had no doubt been drawn in by the Hunter's natural charisma.

Dean had gone up to the casket before anyone else was there and Kat was in the funeral director's office. He could hardly look at this dolled up version of his brother, wearing a suit Dean didn't recognized, hair smoothed back in a way it hadn't been since he'd gotten sick. This was so wrong. Sam's body should have been on a funeral pyre, the way all Hunters' were after death. Somehow, Dean would have to find the strength the dig his brother's grave up and burn his body. Soon, before something came after him.

"Here," he said, tucking the gun he had brought from the bunker into Sam's suit so that no one would know it was there. One of the army men he put in Sam's palm. "I'd give you the picture too," Dean said. "But I have to keep that. Don't hate me."

He stood at the mouth of Sam's grave as they lowered the body in. Some priest was there, standing across from Dean and he was waving his arms, talking about souls and heaven and angels and peace and Dean couldn't help but think he'd never heard anything so ridiculous. There was no God. There might be a heaven and there might be pain-in-the-ass angels but there was no God.

Kat was getting ready to throw the first handful of dirt when the hair on the back of Dean's neck bristled and his Hunter instincts kicked in. Something was watching him, watching the funeral. He turned to smile at Parker who was behind him with Kat's mother but moved his eyes upward for a quick scan. The cemetery wasn't all that large and it was surrounded by a dense forest that must have backed up to one of the parks around town. Maybe the same one where Sam and Dean had eaten the burgers.

No one was there.

His ivory handled pistol was tucked in the waistband of his dress pants and he slid it out as he turned away from the group. He felt Kat glance at him but he kept the gun close to his body in front of him, making sure no one saw it.

They all came out at once.

Men and women dressed in jeans and cargo coats, with flannel shirts and combat boots and baseball caps, stepped from the forest to the front of the tree line. They were all staring right at Dean and it took a moment for him to realize what was happening.

They were Hunters coming to pay their last respects to Sam Winchester. Dean should have known Kevin would tip people off and yet he couldn't quite believe anyone had showed up. The Hunters made no move to come forward and Dean stayed where he was. Some of them he recognized, if only from pictures: little Krissy Russo was there with her gang, Missouri Mosely the psychic from Lawrence, several Hunters John had worked with when Dean was a teenager. Other he didn't recognize at all and could only guess why they had appeared.

Then Garth and Kevin were at his shoulder, staring out at the posse of Hunters.

"You should have told us," Garth said and Dean wasn't all that surprised to see the scrawny Hunter was crying. "We didn't get to say goodbye."

"They're all here for Sam?" Dean asked. "Why?" Both of them looked at Dean in confusion.

"They wanted to pay their respects. Sam was…well, he was a Winchester and one of the best Hunters this world has seen. You know that. Your brother's life didn't go unnoticed, Dean," Garth said. Dean hadn't cried all day and he sure as hell didn't want to do in front of a bunch of Hunters. He put the gun away and without thinking, raised his hand in a salute toward the forest. Fifty or so hands replied and then they were gone, melting back into the earth as only Hunters could do.

"Dean," Garth said. "Don't worry about the body. We'll take care of it." Dean swallowed hard, still staring at the now empty space in front of him. He could only nod. They weren't exactly family but sometimes Hunters were good to have around.

"Okay," Kevin said. "We're going now. We just wanted you to know how much we're all going to miss him. Call us if you need anything, Dean. Check in every one in a while if you don't come back."

They were gone by the time he turned back to the funeral.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the last!


	28. Chapter 28

Kat's mother left a week after the funeral and the remaining inhabitants of what used to be Sam and Kat's house worked themselves into a new routine. Dean rarely left his bedroom during the day, coming out mostly at night when the other two were asleep. Bullet followed him around like a shadow, something he found annoying at first but he grew used to the large dog's head at his knee. Sometimes when he came out at night he would catch Kat as she was heading to bed or sitting on the couch, staring at the muted TV. She was never crying but sometimes her eyes would slowly drift his way and she would watch him grab a drink from the fridge and walk out the door, Bullet trailing at his heels.

The beer would sit in between his legs, unopened, until he backed the Impala out of the garage and drove himself to the next town over in any direction. Once there, he'd sit in the parking lot of a bar and drink. Just one. Sometimes he sat in the quiet and sometimes to the not-so-quiet screaming of Metallica or AC/DC. It depended on how loud the roaring in his head was that day. Bullet sat next to him in the front seat. At first, Dean hadn't liked that; that was Sam's spot, and he had relegated the dog to the backseat, which was further than any other dog had come to getting inside his car. But then one night Bullet jumped in the front seat and curled up there, paws hanging off the edge, head tilted out the window, completely ignoring the fact that Dean was yelling at her to get in the back seat. It was something Sam would have done and so Dean let the dog stay.

When the bottle was finished, Dean opened the door and climbed out of the car like an old man but walked into the bar with a swagger, heading for the back tables he had already sought out. They were filled with men like him: quiet, war torn, too rough around the edges to be much good to anyone. They gambled. Poker and Blackjack and Euchre, the last being a card game he had had no use for until now. Sometimes he lost but mostly he won. He smoked occasionally when offered, kept his head down, used a different identity in each bar. The others accepted him with hesitation at first: he was too young, too handsome to be on such a difficult road. But when he proved himself to be an adept card player, they let him in. Bullet sat under the table at his feet and strangely enough, he never got flack for letting the animal follow him inside. Over time, some of the men even grew fond of the Shepherd and would slip her their pizza crusts when they thought Dean wasn't looking.

That's where he stayed for a couple hours, eyes rarely flickering to the abundance of women who sat at the bar pretending not to watch him out of the corner of their eyes. Sometimes when he got back to the house, he'd find a stray napkin with a phone number in his jacket pocket but he always threw it out.

The money he left in the middle of the kitchen table, held down at the corner by the napkin holder. He wasn't stupid and he also wasn't a freeloader. He knew he took up food and energy at the house. He knew Kat had bills to pay, many of them leftover from Sam's hospital stays or treatment. It was all he could do to help out. Plus, he had promised Sam to look after them. The first few times this happened, the money remained on the table the next morning but after the pile grew for the better part of a week, it suddenly disappeared. After that, it was always gone by morning. It wasn't much but it made him feel better.

In the mornings, he was always awakened by Parker's crying. The kid did that a lot now, much more than when Sam had been alive. Sometimes Dean felt like joining in with him, beating his own fists into the walls, screaming at the top of his lungs.

" _Daddy!"_

Dean winced every time. It would be easier in a few years, maybe in a few months, when Parker could no longer remember his father but for now, the pain hit the toddler anew every time he woke up. The grief was endless and the house was wrapped in it, pulsing beneath the weight. Alive, but just barely.

Kat would rush to the child and soothe him, her own voice low and calm. Dean would roll over in bed and put the pillow over his ears so he couldn't hear her. He didn't want to be comforted. He wanted to drown in his own personal sea of anguish. As the days slipped by in slow succession, the Hunter lost weight, lost muscle. He lost the will to do much of anything other than sleep and play cards. Sam was gone and therefore a part of Dean was gone. A part he wasn't so sure he could live without. It was as if a vital organ had been ripped from him and he was slowly dying without it.

When he did speak to Kat, when they crossed paths in the small house, the questions were always short and direct.

"Did you get dinner last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you go out?"

"Yes."

"Do you need anything from the store?"

"No."

He was blind to the fact she was sinking into the same abyss he was content to lay at the bottom of. His sorrow and anger blinded him from anything but his own emotions. It took a while for anything to change.

* * *

It was five or six weeks after the funeral at about ten in the morning. Dean had been up for a few hours but was still lying in bed as usual, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the least painful way to die. He couldn't decide between a bullet to the head or taking a handful of pills. He wasn't going to kill himself – not yet – but that didn't mean he couldn't think about it. Bullet lay at the foot of the bed, her head sneaking beneath his hand every so often. Parker had been wailing for a good ten minutes, sobbing hysterically in the next room over.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Dean rarely heard him say anything else.

He rolled himself out of bed to go to the bathroom but found the door locked. He cocked his head and heard the shower running. Ah, so that was why Parker was crying. His mother was in the shower. Oh well, the kid would live.

Dean went back to bed and his contemplation of death, but it didn't last long. Twenty minutes later, the kid was still going strong and when he checked, the shower was still running.

"Kat!" he banged on the door. She didn't answer. "Hey! Kat! Parker's screaming his head off out here."

Nothing.

"What do you think?" he asked the dog who had followed him off the bed though she remained in the doorway of Dean's room. The screaming child probably bothered her as much as it did him. He snorted at her. "You're useless."

He thought about turning around and leaving but something rose in his gut, an instinctual feeling that there was something wrong on the other side of the door. He tried the door again but it was still locked.

"Kat? Are you in there?" A minute later, he was ramming his shoulder against the door. He felt the flimsy hinges give and then it knocked over completely; he caught it and leaned it up against the doorframe. He'd have to fix that later.

The first thing he noticed was that the shower and the faucet were both running, creating a steamy sauna. He coughed as the warm, moist air hit his lungs and turned them both off. The tile floor was slippery with moisture and the walls were soaked with it. Then he noticed Kat curled up on the floor in the far corner. She was crying, sobbing actually, into her arms and he realized why she'd had the water going. Her cries echoed terribly off the walls of the small room, slamming into Dean's ears with ragged edges, tearing at him. She didn't even look up as he walked in.

"Kat?" She stayed on the floor, bare legs curled under her. The only thing she had on was a purple fleece bathrobe.

"Okay," he said, crouching down beside her. "It's okay." He scooped her up, one hand under her knees, the other around her back. If anything, her crying intensified as she turned her face into his chest, arms around his neck. Beneath the fabric of the robe he could feel the sharp protrusion of her bones. It frightened him how much of her had disappeared in such a short amount of time. She was wasting away and he hadn't even noticed.

_You're not taking care of them. You promised you would._

He carried Kat out of the bathroom into her bedroom and put her into bed, where she curled up in a ball. Her dark hair was a mess, stuck to her neck with sweat. Dean rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table that had been Sam's until he produced a bottle of sleeping pills.

"I'll be right back," he promised her, but she made no sign she had heard him. On his way to the kitchen, he passed Parker's room. The child was still screaming. When he returned with a glass of water, he propped Kat up and made her swallow the pills.

"They'll make it better," he said to her. "At least for a little while. We're going to be okay." She lied back down and he sat on the bed beside her, rubbing circles on her back until her sobs quieted to whimpers and then faded altogether. Only when he was sure she was asleep did he leave, shutting the door gently behind him.

"Okay, kiddo," he said, walking into Parker's room. The toddler was sitting down now but tears were still streaming down his face, which was a dark red. When he saw Dean walking to his crib he stuck his arms up in the air pitifully and Dean obliged, swinging his brother's son up into his arms. Parker buried his face in Dean's collarbone. He walked him around the room a few times and then checked his diaper. Finding it dry, he carried him out into the living room, grabbing a cup of juice on the way. Setting the juice on the coffee table he sat on the couch, the small boy curled in his arms, the screaming finally settling into something more tolerable. Once the noise stopped, Bullet came to sit next to them and Parker reached out a quivering hand to grab at her soft ears. She seemed to roll her eyes up at Dean but she tolerated the toddler as if getting her ears pulled was better than a belly rub.

Dean stroked the boy's hair, which, funnily enough, was blonde. The complete opposite of his father and mother. Then Dean remembered that Sam had had blonde hair until the age of three when it darkened. As Parker gripped the collar of Dean's shirt in one chubby hand, Dean wondered what he would grow up to do.

He hoped that instead of a revolver and a wooden handled knife, this kid's hands would grow up clutching a baseball bat or the steering wheel of a racecar. He would never know the powers of salt or holy water, never have to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed studying Latin chants. As Parker finally quieted, he stared at Dean in a way that made the Hunter shiver. It was as if the kid could see right into his soul. And even though his eyes matched the Hunter's peering down at him, Dean couldn't help but feel as though was Sam staring back at him.

"'Ean," he said softly and snuggled closer into Dean's chest. The same exact way another child had done so many years ago. Memories flashed in Dean's mind.

Sammy at age three, asking where his Mommy was.  
Sammy at age eight asking Dean why he had to miss the football game when John takes them both to the shooting range.  
Sammy at age ten, on his first Hunt with John and Dean.  
Sam at thirteen, falling asleep on Dean's shoulder as they spend another long night in the Impala.  
Sam at seventeen, screaming at John in a motel room that this was not the life he wanted. Dean watching from the bathroom, wondering how two brothers could be born so different.  
Sam at eighteen, packing a bag as Dean sits on the bed and watches, wanting to ask his little brother to stay and knowing at the same time that he has to leave.  
Sam at twenty-two, burying his girlfriend in a graveyard they never visited again.  
Sammy at thirty-three, asking Dean to forgive him one last time.

And Dean saying yes because that's what he'd been born to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end, guys! Thanks for reading. If you have a moment, leave a commet and let me know what you thought! I'm going to be uploading more stories so stay tuned!


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